


No Drowning Mark Upon Them

by exoscopy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Fantasy, Gen, Grievous Harm With A Body, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Other, Pirates, Psychopaths In Love, age of sail fantasy, cosmic horror, great hats, ridiculous location naming system, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exoscopy/pseuds/exoscopy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kestrel is going to finish his education. Kestrel is going to be a law-abiding citizen. Kestrel is going to keep his head down, do what his family says, and hopefully not disappoint them too much in the process.</p><p>Unfortunately, the pirate crew of the <i>Nimble Fingers</i> (collective bounty: 300,000 gold crowns) is in need of a new cabin boy.</p><p>The story of a quest for an unspeakable treasure, stranger things in heaven and earth, the semantic differences between vivisection and dissection; and a bunch of total assholes being assholes to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're born to be hanged then you'll never be drowned, and vice versa.
> 
> This is a companion work to [Though Every Drop of Water Swear Against It by tozettewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951641/chapters/13680124). You don't need to read that to understand this story, but I recommend you check it out anyway because it's rad (also events in that story are referenced in this story, and vice versa).

Someone was leaning over him. Kestrel groaned and tried to cover his face with a hand, but his limbs felt like they’d been weighted with lead.

“Oh, he’s awake,” someone said flatly. “You’re awake,” they added, and the next thing he knew a flood of cold water had hit his face and he thrashed, screaming, as the salt went into his mouth and his eyes and his hair.

“Alia,” another voice said. He managed, with all he had, to roll onto his face. Anything further was sort of beyond him, though. He lay there for a while longer feeling sorry for himself while the voices had a discussion; it took him a moment to realize that the discussion was, apparently, about him.

“All the same,” the second voice was saying, in a calm, clear sort of way that reminded him of his childhood tutor, a quiet, thin, sad-eyed man who’d nonetheless been able to deliver a nasty blow to the knuckles when a child wasn’t enunciating clearly enough, “the only purpose it has served is to make the floor wet, and our – “ A delicate pause. “ – companion is no more sensible for it. Nor is the floor any cleaner.”

“Sorry, sir,” the first voice said. It sounded like one of the wharf orphans he’d often see running around the docks, ragged, lean things with ratlike eyes and tattered clothes and sharp, broken-off teeth. At which point his uncle would lean over and inform him that they were Bad Company, and he was not to mix with them under any circumstances or he would find a sad little gap in the family tree where Iskan Kestrel had formerly been. “I’ll clean it up.”

“No need. There may be a simple enough solution to both problems at hand. Can you hear me, boy?”

 

     Kestrel made a muffled noise. He was lying on something hard and ridged that was certainly not his bed in Iskan Manor, and though it could very well have been his bed at Abstemious College for the Mannerly Youth he rather doubted that the college would have allowed a wharf orphan into the grounds. He rather suspected that was what the groundskeepers carried guns for.

“Do you speak?” the calm voice said, very patiently.

“Yes,” he croaked.

“Good. Please sit up, if you can. Alia, support his head.” Someone snorted softly, and then he was being hauled upwards. He struggled a little and blinked, wide-eyed, as someone propped him against what he supposed was a wall.

 

     He was in a small room, made entirely of timber. A single lantern swayed on a hook in the ceiling. Kneeling in front of him were a small boy – the wharf orphan, he guessed – and – and the most terrifyingly beautiful man he had ever seen. The noise he made was a little like a squeak. Where was he? Was he in a house of – of iniquity, and loose women, or at least something of that sort his grandmother had always warned him against? He’d never really understood how a woman could be loose, though. Most women he saw appeared very tight indeed, in between the corsets and the – the lacing, and all the other stringy bits.

“Doesn’t sound like his head has anything in it that needs supporting, sir,” the boy said.

“Then hold him by the throat,” the calm man said, though it was beginning to look like plain indifference. Kestrel squeaked again.

“P-please don’t do that,” he stuttered. “I, I need that, for breathing?”

 

     “We didn’t think you were going to be doing that much longer,” the boy said, cocking his head. He must have been very young. His voice was very high.

“W-what, breathing? No, no, I do like breathing. I. Um. Where am I?” Kestrel’s voice was almost as high.

“Please stay still for one moment,” the calm man said, rummaging under his sash. The next thing he knew, the man had him by the chin; he yelped and tried to shrink away, but the man had a very firm grip.

“Can you touch your own nose for me?” the man said, finally releasing him. Kestrel did, gingerly. After a battery of other nonsensical tests the man let Kestrel go and rose to his feet. “He appears in fine condition, barring some bruises. Do you intend to inform the captain of his presence?” The tone reminded Kestrel of his aunt, who had a similar way of making questions sound like unquestionable orders.

“I bet Naishi’s already told her,” the boy said, also standing. “Naishi tells her everything.” He shuffled his feet in a way that Kestrel recognized and edged nervously away from.

“If the First Mate has taken the hangover tonic I delivered her, and not thrown it out the porthole,” the man said, already half out the door, “then yes, I suppose that is very much the case. Enjoy your new pet, Alia. Do not forget to feed it.”

 

     Which left him with the scowling wharf boy – Alia, which didn’t sound like a boy’s name – who looked at him and huffed. It dawned that the boy might, in fact, be a girl.

“Um,” he ventured, “where am I?”

“Belowdecks.” Alia shrugged. “I should get you to the captain. She’ll decide what to do with you.”

“Yes, about that,” he said, and then, “Belowdecks?” and then, “We’re on a _ship_?” with dawning horror.

“Yeah,” Alia said, “and you’re a stowaway. You seemed pretty keen on it last week. Well, everyone seemed pretty keen on everything last week, I guess. Come on.” She offered him a hand. Kestrel stared at it in frozen horror.

 

     He was meant to be starting his third year at Abstemious College this year! Two more years and he could have – well, he didn’t know, but he would have had some schooling, which his family deemed A Very Important Thing for a Young Man to Have. His family! Oh God! He was a _stowaway_ ; wasn’t that some sort of crime? He would be disowned if this ever got back to Iskan Manor!

“You’ve got to take me back!” He seized Alia’s little hand pleadingly. “My family will be – they’ll be horrified if they hear I’ve become a, a sailor! My grandmother says they’re, uh, she says quite a lot of things, actually, I don’t think most of them are appropriate things for a grandmother to say, but, uh-”

“Calm down,” Alia said bemusedly. “Also, you really don’t know where you are, do you?”

“No,” he said helplessly. “Is it obvious?”

 

     Alia’s face cracked into a horrible sort of grin he’d only ever seen on his grandfather’s wolfhounds. He let go of her hand hastily.

“Then come on, idiot,” she said, beckoning, and stepped to the door. “I’ll show you.”

 

     He lurched awkwardly behind for some time, staggering from side to side with the motion of the ship. Every so often he had to support himself against one of the walls to keep from falling into them, but she barely seemed to notice the swaying.

“I’m Alie, by the way,” Alia, or Alie, said, glancing over one shoulder. “You’re, what, some fancy bird name or something, weren’t you? Albatross? Tern?”

“Kestrel,” Kestrel said, feeling wretched, and nearly stumbled into Alie when she halted at the base of a ladder.

“Wasn’t even close,” Alie muttered, and swung herself nimbly up the ladder. Kestrel looked up, and swallowed before following suit.

 

     Abovedecks the swaying was even worse. Alie had to hold on to his arm to keep him from falling over, and since Alie was not very tall or very big this was a decidedly awkward arrangement, though Alie was surprisingly strong for her size. On every side lay miles and miles of shimmering sea. Home, he thought with a sinking feeling, was probably nowhere close.

 

     Squinting out from under his hand, he could just make out two figures standing in the prow, one of them apparently wearing something with enormous plumed feathers. Alie led him across the broad deck with a very firm grip and ushered him up the steps, where standing near the wheel was a woman who, he instantly decided, was _probably_ what grandmother had meant when she talked at length about loose women, which he realized had probably to do with the looseness of their shirts. Or the collars thereof, anyway. He gulped. Maybe that was what they meant by loose women: women who made you feel like all your entrails had started flopping around. He looked away, and found that he was staring at a hat.

 

     The hat moved, and suddenly he was looking at another woman, this one dressed in the most spectacular coat he had ever seen; it was laden down with gold braid and she had a cape slung across it that, when she moved, revealed an underside of sleek black fur.

“Oh! Hello,” the loose woman – _no, no_ , she probably had a _name,_ he thought desperately, staring at the floor – “you woke up! What’s your name? Some kind of bird, wasn’t it? Eagle? Falcon?”

“Kestrel,” he mumbled.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said, and to his sheer embarrassment, she made her way over to him and patted him on the head. “Kestrel. I won’t forget, I promise. Welcome aboard. I’m First Mate Naishi. This is Captain Malai, of the _Nimble Fingers_. You can call her Captain.” She gestured at the hat, and he supposed at the woman under it as well, but the hat seemed to command the majority of his attention. He was very uncomfortably aware of his proximity to First Mate Naishi’s very loose shirt.

“It’s the seagull!” Captain Malai said, propping a hand on her hip – very close to what looked like an extremely ornate _sword_ , he thought wildly, trying not to panic.

“It’s not often we get educated young men in search of fame and fortune. They just don’t make them with ambition these days, do they, First Mate?” she said cheerfully.

“It’s so rare, yes,” the First Mate said, sighing heavily. Or, well, heave-ily, Kestrel supposed, fixing his gaze on the Captain’s hat. “Which was why we were so happy for you to come aboard.”

“Well, that and the decks needed a good scrub,” the Captain said airily. “Better get him to it!” And just with that, he was dismissed. Alie tugged him out of the room and ushered him back downstairs, where she equipped him with a brush and a bucket and told him, “Good luck.”

“So,” he said, “er, about how I got here-”

“We got you drunk and kidnapped you,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, and added, “well, I thought it would be something like that,” in a subdued sort of voice, and then, “you’re not going to hold me to ransom, er, are you?”

 

     Alie turned around so fast he took a few steps back, holding the bucket out like a shield.

“Why?” she said, eyes narrowed. “Your family rich?”

“Well, uh, not really,” he said, “they’ve got a bit of land and a house, I guess, but, uh, really, they’d be very embarrassed if they heard one of their sons got kidnapped by pirates and I, I wouldn’t want to cause them any trouble. Better for them to think I’m at boarding school, really,” he said quietly, lowering the bucket. “I, I don’t think they’d pay that much for me.”

 

     She stared at him for a moment, and then gingerly reached forward and gave him what he eventually figured out was a pat on the shoulder.

“There,” she said slowly, and after a moment she ventured another, “there,” before vanishing awkwardly.

 

     There was a lot of deck to scrub. What had seemed like a vast expanse of deck while he was walking about it became approximately nine times vaster when he was crawling about it with a brush in one hand and a bucket in the other. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed but there never seemed to be any less of it that needed scrubbing, probably because people kept walking on it; he didn’t have the heart, or the guts, to tell them to stop.

 

     Nobody seemed to have any interest in telling him to stop, either. It was well past nightfall when a bell started clanging and he sat up, alarmed, and abruptly wished he hadn’t because his back protested fiercely. So did his knees. He hobbled to his feet and looked nervously around, half-expecting a cannonball to come tearing through the air and take his head clean off his shoulders. That sort of thing happened, didn’t it?

 

     The only thing that happened was that Alie clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on,” she said, “that’s the dinner bell.” And then, “Why are you screaming?”

“Where did you _come_ from?” he said wildly. She pointed skyward. He would have pointed in the opposite direction, but she was the only person on this ship who seemed to notice he was there so he wisely decided not to contest it.

“Had fun?” she said, starting off.

“I haven’t even scrubbed _half_ the deck,” he moaned.

“I know,” she said. “I was watching you from the crow’s nest.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” he said, comprehension dawning. To hide his embarrassment, he tried, “Was I doing a good job?” Alie considered this for a while, and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Wood’s pretty brown.”

“Oh,” he repeated. It was hard to come back from a remark like that and the sense of crushing disappointment it entailed, so he followed her mutely.

 

     Dinner was served in the communal kitchen, and by the time they entered the room was nearly full. Most of the crew stood or sat on the floor, propped against the wall. A man with a shock of pale blond hair and a bemused sort of expression was ladling out what Kestrel thought might be stew.

“Evenin’,” he said, as Alie approached. “Hey, this the new lad? Welcome aboard, seagull.”

“Um, thanks.” Kestrel wondered if he should bother to correct him.

“Aiden’s our quartermaster,” Alie said, handing him a bowl. His cramped hands were grateful for the fact it was hot. “I want extra.”

“No y’don’t,” Aiden said, propping his elbows on the counter. “Y’can’t fit extra. You’ll finish that bowl and burst, girl, better t’give it t’someone who’ll manage it, like here-” He reached for her bowl and she snatched it away. It looked noticeably fuller than it had a moment ago, but she ushered him away before he could say anything and claimed a spot in the corner.

 

     He recognized the First Mate, who was chatting to a woman with fine white hair and curly, branching marks across her face and bare arms, and looked hurriedly away when the white-haired woman started staring straight at him. Out of the corner of his eyes he could make out the First Mate joining in, and then whispering something to the white-haired woman that made her grin, showing off crooked teeth. Kestrel fervently busied himself with his bowl.

“That’s Nairen,” Alie said in a low voice, between mouthfuls, “she’s our carpenter. I don’t know how many times she’s been hit by lightning. A lot? She’s a damn good shipwright though so it’ll be a shame when the sky finally gets her.”

“I didn’t know you could survive being hit by lightning,” Kestrel whispered.

“I don’t think Nairen knows you _can’t_ ,” Alie said, licking the rim of her bowl. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Oh-” He hastily finished his stew. It was surprisingly good. It tasted of some odd spices, and salt, and fish, which he supposed was a good thing for fish stew to taste like.

 

   “Oh! Alie,” someone called. Kestrel blinked, and suddenly bearing down on them like a tide of butterflies was _the_ most attractive man he had ever seen. He had a face that made angels look plain. He knelt down in front of Alie and Kestrel caught a whiff of the headiest perfume he had ever smelt, like every rare flower in the Botanical Gardens whisked together.

“You must be the new boy! Kestrel, wasn’t it? What a lovely name,” cooed the divine vision. “I’m so pleased to meet you.” Kestrel blinked frantically and pinched himself, but the man continued to be both disturbingly present and unnervingly attractive.

“Um, I’m, um, it’s my pleasure,” he stuttered.

“We’re so glad you’ve woken up. We were afraid you never would, you know,” the lovely man said, shaking his head, and Kestrel was hit by the most gut-clenching sense of despair at the very notion. “I was so worried! Oh – Alie, we’ll be at Justice in a week or so, if the wind stays at our back.”

“If it doesn’t?” Alie said.

“Then I’m afraid I don’t know. There’s no way to tell the weather on these seas. Hopefully the Captain’s luck will hold,” he said, with a soft little smile. “It’s so good to have you on board, Kestrel. I’ll see you around.”

 

     Kestrel took a moment to collect his jaw from the floor.

“That’s Kanil,” Alie said. “He’s the sailing master. We took him off a Navy ship.”

“Did he mind?” Kestrel said, clearing his throat.

“He talked them into not minding. I don’t think they stopped not minding, even after we sank them.” Alie got to her feet. “I’m going to check something on deck.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said quickly, because the man with the calm voice and the face like a classical sculpture had just entered, and he looked at Kestrel in a way that made his fish stew lurch a little.

 

     Above decks the wind had started to pick up, and Kestrel shivered, clutching his thin coat a little closer. Alie frowned, turned her face into the wind, and then spat over the railing into the ocean.

“Are you cold?” she said, looking at him. He opened his mouth to answer and his teeth chattered miserably.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll go out of the wind,” she said, and led him around to a little alcove close to the rails, where she flopped down and slung her legs over the edge. It was amazing the difference a few walls made.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” he said.

“Not until you fall off.” He had to give her that.

 

     He gingerly settled himself nearby, a bit further from the edge but with a firm hold on the railing, and wondered when his family would start worrying about where he was. Never, he suspected dully. He’d had quite a few brothers and sisters and a few of them looked like they were going to grow up into important people: Iskan Kestrel, on the other hand, had a future in the Royal Society, which would have been fine if he had been planning to pay for it. They probably wouldn’t miss him that much, he thought. Only when the roses started to die, when the only colour left in the garden was dry brown. If his father had still been alive the garden would have bloomed the year through, but if his father had still been alive the rest of the family might have come looking.

 

     “If you’re going to throw up or something, do it over the railing,” Alie said, and he jerked up to stare at her.

“Hey,” she said slowly, “is there something in your eye, or-”

“Something in my eye,” he said quickly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “How long have you been on this ship for?”

“This ship, eight years,” she said, frowning. “Why?”

“Don’t you have a family who miss you?”

     “None that I remember,” she said. He felt an inexplicable sense of relief. She went on, “There’s just sir and Tair. Well, no Tair at the moment. He’s in prison on Justice. That’s why we’re going there.”

“Are they, uh, going to rescue him?” Kestrel said.

“I am,” she said. He blinked.

“What,” he whispered, “by _yourself_?”

“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “Bringing someone else will slow me down.”

“But you’re one pirate!” he said desperately. “You’ll be on an island full of marines, and – and they’ll have firearms, and swords, and, and lots of other marines-”

“I’ll have Tair,” she said. Kestrel opened his mouth, and shut it abruptly after a long moment in which he managed to _say_ absolutely nothing but _look_ very stupid. Alie took pity on him after a few moments and said, “He’s better than a hundred marines, but don’t tell him I said that. Plus he’s big, so they’ll all aim for him.”

“But he got captured in the first place, didn’t he?” Kestrel said, “won’t they capture you too?”

“He didn’t get captured,” Alie said briefly, and though he waited a little while she didn’t seem particularly keen to elaborate.

 

     “Who’s ‘sir’?” he said, to break the silence, and then remembered the man who’d been there when he’d woken up. “Is he the physician?”

“Yeah,” she said, slinging her arms over the railing. “He brought me on board. Otherwise I’d still be a street orphan.”

“Why do you call him ‘sir’?” Kestrel said.

“Sir? It’s because he’s a nob,” she said. After seeing what must have been his blank look she gestured vaguely. “You know, has a title and all that. He used to live in a fancy house in the city.”

“Really?” Kestrel said, awed. “Why did he leave?”

“Twenty-eight human vivisections and the legal repercussions thereof,” the physician’s voice said serenely, from somewhere _right next to his ear_. Kestrel shrieked and the only thing that kept him from toppling into the black ocean was Alie’s hand in his collar.

 

     “Evening, sir,” she said, letting go of Kestrel. He wheezed. “Kanil said we’d be at Justice in a week.”

“So I heard,” the physician said, kneeling down. “Then I cannot ask you to reconsider?”

“Ha ha, sir,” she said. “Hilarious, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Here. When you free him he will need this, I suspect. Try not to open it lest you plan to be awake for the next six days,” he said, and her hand froze halfway through unscrewing the cap. Carefully, she replaced it, and vanished the little wooden bottle somewhere into her coat.

“Wood might get sodden on the way to shore,” she said doubtfully.

“Glass might break,” the physician said, standing up, “and metals would corrode.” She nodded briefly. He nodded back, and that seemed to be all. Kestrel nervously watched him make his way back across the deck, half-expecting him to pull a still-beating heart out of his pocket at any second.

 

     “It wasn’t really twenty-eight human vivisections,” Alie said.

“Oh,” Kestrel said, sagging against the rail. “Oh, thank God.”

“It was only twenty-two,” she said, “By the time he’d actually started on the other six they weren’t really vivisections any more. The lawmen didn’t care, though.”

“What’s the difference?” he said, dreading the answer.

“They have to be alive for it to count as a vivisection, otherwise it’s just a dissection,” she said. “But dissection doesn’t mean anything about whether the subject is alive or dead, so it’s not that accurate. Do you not like fish stew or something? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Um,” he said faintly. “No, I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t like it you should’ve let me eat it,” she said.

“I’m. Um. Goodness. Doesn’t it upset you?” he burst out.

“What, fish stew?” she said. “No, or else I’d be upset all the time.”

 

     He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not, and while he was still trying to puzzle this through she said, “What’s your family like? Apart from not being rich.”

“They’re alright,” he said, resting his head on his arms. “I don’t really know what other families are like.”

“I don’t know what any families are like,” she said, “so you win. Congratulations.” She sighed. “You’re not going to try running to the marines when we reach Justice, are you? Because if you are they’ll take you in for questioning as a pirates’ accomplice. I don’t think you’d survive questioning. No offence,” she added, apparently not noticing the way all the blood had drained from his face. “Though you did survive a whole day scrubbing decks.”

“Um,” he said, “not very well.”

“Usually with survival you either do it very well or you don’t do it at all,” she said. “I’ve got to go to bed. I’m taking the watch just before dawn.”

 

   “Oh, uh-” He scrambled to his feet and followed her. “Where do people sleep?” She looked at him over one shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“I guess you can have Tair’s hammock, for now,” she said. “Though when he comes back we’ll have to put you somewhere else.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble-”

“No,” she said, grabbing his wrist, “come on.” He gulped.

 

     There were four people to a room; much to his abject terror, the First Mate was in his.  
“Oh! You’re putting him in here for now?” she said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. He was fairly certain that if he spoke directly to her his grandmother would come thundering across the seas and berate him about speaking to That Sort Of Woman with the pointy end of her cane, so he kept his eyes meekly down.

“Why?” Alie said. “It’s a spare.”

“No, you’re quite right,” the First Mate said. “He should get a good night’s rest. You must be so tired, poor boy,” she said, patting Kestrel’s head. He nodded, terrified. “Don’t worry. It gets better! Doesn’t it, Alie?”

“Yeah,” Alie said, “just before it gets worse. Night.”

“Good night,” he blurted out, panicked. Once the door had shut the First Mate put one hand on her hip and gave him a look so thoughtful it made him seriously consider sleeping in the rigging.

“I think she likes you,” she said brightly. “Aren’t you a lucky boy?”

“I, uh,” he said desperately.

“No, don’t answer that. Of course you are! Well, I’m not sure if I should be calling you lucky just yet,” she murmured, “all things considered. Anyway, sleep well!”

 

     She climbed into her hammock, and he wondered how he possibly could after that ominous little declaration. Once he’d clambered into the hammock, though – the trick of it seemed to be speed – and laid his head down, he found it surprisingly easy, and before long he had drifted into exhausted sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The good night’s rest optimistically predicted by the First Mate never came, in part due to the First Mate herself. At an hour of the morning Kestrel was poorly acquainted with, the carpenter returned from her shift on watch, and from that first night onwards he discovered that pirate ships had very different standards for what could be done while other people were still in the room.

 

     Not that Kestrel had much experience with the moral standards of pirate ships. If all of them were like this one, he was thinking desperately, it was a wonder anyone got any sleep at all. Should he get up and leave the room? But if he did, they’d know he was awake – would that be a faux pas? The quartermaster seemed to be managing just fine, snoring gently overhead. Maybe he and the mysterious Tair were used to this sort of thing, but Kestrel – he heard the First Mate make a high, breathy noise and desperately tried to cover his ears with his sleeves – was decidedly _not._ His face felt like it was about to catch fire and explode.

 

     The First Mate sighed raggedly, her breath coming in sharp little hitches. There was a sound he didn’t quite understand and didn’t dare to look around for.

“Lower,” the First Mate purred, and then: “Oh – do that again – _oh_ \- “ Kestrel jammed his fingers in his ears and wished he could walk through walls, to save him the embarrassment of having to step over the two of them on his way to the door.

“ _Yes_ ,” the carpenter said triumphantly, at about the same time that the First Mate wailed. He had to be bleeding from the face by now. He had to be. The alternative was extremely uncomfortable and even more embarrassing.

“You useless – “ Kissing sound. “Wonderful – “ Kissing sound. “ – _terrible_ woman. What horrible deed did I do to deserve being kidnapped by _you_?”

“It was not a kidnapping, you just weren’t as insistent on coming along as you should have been,” the First Mate said sleepily. “Mmn. Let’s just stay here, dear. You’re very comfortable.”

“Let us _not_. Your chin is as a thousand try squares stabbing into my bony parts. Off! Off, you creature of the devil!”

“The devil wouldn’t pay what I asked,” the First Mate murmured, but there was a rustling sound. After what seemed like eternity, Kestrel could finally hear the sound of steady breathing.

 

     He chanced a look. The First Mate and the carpenter were both back in their respective sleeping places, and both looked to be soundly asleep. The First Mate was also not wearing any trousers, but he decided not to push his luck. He left the room.

 

     The deck was bitingly cold, which he was quite grateful for. It made his cheeks sting, but they’d been burning since that watch ended so he was quite glad for the change. He settled himself cautiously next to the mast and looked around. The active person on watch should be somewhere around.

 

     The next thing he knew, something was bolting across the deck towards him. He froze. It was about the height of his knees and coming fast: in the dark it took a few seconds more before he realized it was a dog, a stubby beagle with floppy ears and black-and-brown patches.

“Hello!” he said to the beagle, stretching a hand out. It came cautiously closer, and sniffed his hand. “What’s your name? Good dog! Good dog,” he said, as it licked his palm and shoved its wet nose against his knee. Despite himself, Kestrel managed a smile. His uncles had kept beagles, and they were generally sweet-tempered things, as long as you weren’t a small furry prey animal.

“Where did you come from?” he wondered aloud. The beagle stared at him with soulful eyes and didn’t answer. He gave it a scratch between the ears and it flopped down next to him in the universal position of dogs who thought you were an alright human being, and would continue to be an alright human being for as long as the scratches persisted.  

“At least you think I’m good at something,” he said softly. The beagle made a _whuff_ noise.

 

     “ _DOG_ ,” someone bellowed. Kestrel actually ducked at the ear-cracking bellow, half-expecting the headmaster of Abstemious College to emerge any second and clip him around the ear for not wearing his uniform properly. The dog perked up and started running back across the deck, where he noticed someone striding towards him rather rapidly. He scrambled to his feet and mustered a hasty salute out of sheer terror.

“Sir!” he squeaked. The man approaching him was tall and lanky and disheveled, and was wearing an expression indicating that someone had done something gravely wrong.

“Where were you going?” the man shouted, at the dog. The dog wagged its tail and jumped onto the man’s trousers. “No! Get down! Stop it!” After a lengthy bit of yelling, the dog finally jumped down and started to run around the man’s legs. That was when the man noticed Kestrel.

 

     “You’re the new boy, I expect,” he said flatly. “Do you eat a lot, boy?”

“Um,” Kestrel said, frozen with terror. “N-no, sir. Not a lot.” Part of him wanted to ask how to define ‘a lot’, but thought the better of it under that seething glare.                                                                    

“Good. If you’re cheap to feed then you’ll earn your keep easily enough. But don’t take that as an excuse to be lazy, boy,” the man hissed, leaning in. Kestrel took a few rapid steps back. The dog looked at him curiously. The man continued, oblivious to the dog’s gaze, “If I hear you’re not doing your duty, I will personally cut your pay.”

“I – I get paid?” Kestrel stammered. The man paused.

“Of course you get paid,” he said irritably. “We’re not a slaving ship, you know. Not like, oh, the _Merry Recidivist_.”

“I didn’t know pirates paid the people they kidnapped,” Kestrel protested, trembling. The man stared at him for a moment longer. He felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“Imbecile,” Kestrel thought he said, and the man stalked back off along the deck. The dog followed, panting. “Why are you following me?” the man bellowed, and Kestrel nearly hid behind the mast before he realized that it was addressed to the dog.

     “That’s Saren,” Alie said in the morning, over a chunk of hardtack soaked in brine. “He’s the boatswain. And the dog’s a dog.”

 

     Four sleepless nights later, they arrived at Justice.

“We’ll put you down here,” the Captain was saying. She was kneeling on the deck with a map, Alie to one side of her and the First Mate on the other. Kestrel scrubbed industriously and hoped that no one would notice how long he had been scrubbing the same piece of deck. “That will make it more or less a straight route up this goat trail to where the prisoners are held. It shouldn’t take _you_ long.” The emphasis was very careful. “In the meantime we’ll go around to this cove, here-” She stabbed a finger at the map. “Which will be the pickup point. We’ll have Naishi and Nairen with a boat.”

“Done,” Alie said.

“Try not to get killed! And try not to kill him while he’s in irons, no matter how great the temptation,” Captain Malai said, getting to her feet. “We’ll still need him! There’s some heavy goods we’ll need to offload at Temperance!”

“Does he have to be alive if I want to claim my share?” Alie said.

“Yes,” Captain Malai said, almost without waiting for her to finish. “Try not to make a big mess!”

 

     The beach they left her at was hardly a beach; from where Kestrel was, on the ship, he could just see a tiny strip of white sand surrounded by steep hills. Her tiny figure was a grey dot on the beach. As they pulled up anchor and began to sail around the coast, he thought he could make out a small, fast-moving streak of grey, making its way up the hill.

 

     He must have been clinging to the railing for some time watching her, because the First Mate took the opportunity to come up behind him and say, “Are you alright? You look like you’ve lost something!” It took all of his effort not to launch himself overboard screaming.

“Um, no, miss,” he said, dropping his gaze. How exactly were you meant to address someone you’d heard performing several different kind of carnal acts last night, probably without their knowledge? “I, uh, I was just watching, uh, the island. In case of marines,” he said lamely.

“Oh, you’re concerned for her!” The First Mate clasped her hands. “That’s so sweet. I’ll tell them how worried you were.” He stared at her for a moment, transfixed with mortification and horror.

“Wait,” he said finally, “they?” But the First Mate had left to pounce on the shipwright. He awkwardly averted his eyes and, as the goat trail became no longer visible from the ship, returned to scrubbing.

 

     They had only been sailing a little while more when Captain Malai said, “Oh, _interesting_ ,” loudly enough for Kestrel to hear. He peeked up from behind his bucket, but the forecastle was in the way. After a quick check to see if no one was watching him shirk his duty, he crept closer to the steps.

 

     On the edge of the horizon, he could just make out another ship.

“Quartermaster! _Quartermaster_ ,” the captain shouted. The quartermaster came up the deck, not at the most hurried pace. Kestrel ducked down and hastily resumed scrubbing.

“Oh,” he said, ambling up the steps. “Company.”

“Company! Now, what sort?” the captain said. Her feathers bent from the force of her turn.

“Ain’t many other crews crazy enough t’come right up to a marine base like this,” the quartermaster said thoughtfully.

“I should hope not, or there’d be no fun to it at all. Telescope?” the captain said. There was a rustle, and the click of brass. “Thank you! You first. You remember these things better than I do. Naishi! Put down the boat and get rowing!”

“Captain!” Naishi sang out. Kestrel heard the creaking of the rig to lower the rowboat, but didn’t dare turn around.

“Looks pretty weathered,” the quartermaster said, at length. “Can’t see th’crew, though – wait, right, there we go.” He paused. “Tall blond fellow, tall white-haired fellow – right, th’blond fellow just gave us th’finger, think it might be the _Merry Recidivist_.”

“Oh, how _exciting_ ,” Captain Malai said, with something like glee. “How’s the gundeck?”

“Foc’sle guns armed. If y’want anything more, maybe another turn of th’little glass?” Kestrel stopped scrubbing, because his heart was pounding too hard to do anything else.

 

     _Pirates!_ some part of his head screamed. You’re going to get caught at sea at a battle between _pirates_! You haven’t done any of the things you meant to with your life. You’ve hardly got an education! How are you going to argue your case against the King of the Dead?

Or you might _survive_ , another part of his head declared. Remember what the boatswain said? A slaver ship! A slave, to pirates!

“That’s not so different,” he mumbled ruefully. The brush didn’t agree, but it didn’t disagree, either.

 

     “They’re a bunch of right mean bastards,” the quartermaster was saying in the meantime.

“And with those two on shore we’re diminished on that front,” Captain Malai said, tapping her lower lip. “Better to save our shot for the marines, I think. Just in case. They don’t seem to be looking for trouble.”

“They’re th’crew of th’ _Merry_ _Recidivist_ ,” the quartermaster pointed out. “Don’t have t’go looking if trouble is what happens after.” Kestrel swallowed.

“I heard they have a man who skins his enemies and goes around draped in their entrails,” Captain Malai said thoughtfully. Kestrel swallowed harder.

“Be a bit smelly after a while, wouldn’t y’think?” the quartermaster said.

“You’d think so! Rumours never pay attention to the little details. Then again, they say their captain’s immortal after he sold his heart to the devil of the deep seas. And that their quartermaster belongs to the Black Cult of Ugguth-Sh’b, the Chittering Queen of Am’k Shuth-Bat.”

“Those’re the ones that turn into the insects?”

“Precisely the ones! You can see, no one pays attention to the details. Who would want to be an insect when you could be a pirate and wear a great hat?”

 

     The quartermaster paused.

“S’a great hat, captain,” he said at length, and Kestrel got the distinct feeling that they’d had this conversation before.

“I’m glad you agree,” Captain Malai said absently. “There’s our cultist! He’s signaling.”

“Got it,” the quartermaster said. There was a long moment of silence. The hardtack that had been Kestrel’s breakfast was starting to disagree with him; he crawled to the railing and draped himself over.

 

     The other ship was much, much closer than he’d have liked. He shifted nervously and pressed a hand to his stomach, hoping that if he did lose his breakfast, it wouldn’t be in sight of the pirate crew who might very well murder him any minute. Standing on the deck of the other ship were two men: one tall and blond, the other standing close to the railing with a pair of flags. The – cultist, probably? There was something physically uncomfortable about him to look at. Kestrel’s eyes kept sliding over and around him, catching only the details – a shock of red hair, white arms splotched reddish-brown, a thinness and tallness that didn’t quite seem proportionate. As Kestrel watched the – cultist – raised a flag with a weird, jerky movement that made Kestrel’s stomach heave; it was a little like a praying mantis, if praying mantises were human-sized and the most disquieting creatures on earth.

 

     He quite liked praying mantises. There had been a few in the herbarium at the College, kept in a large glass tank. He had been allowed to feed them grasshoppers. This man was like – a mantis made of clockwork, maybe, something that shook and shuddered and _ticked_ like nothing made of flesh.

 

     “Quick rower, that girl,” the captain commented. Kestrel sneaked a glance shoreward. Pulling the boat up onto the rocky beach, he could make out the outlines of the carpenter and the First Mate. And then, “Ah, there’s our lost sheep!”

 

     Kestrel peered over the edge. There were four people scrambling down the steep cliffs to the other side of the shore, where they’d moored a small boat. Captain Malai frowned.

“No, that’s not them,” she said absently, and then, “don’t tell me! They came for the bounty? _As well_? Where did they even _find_ someone else of that size?” He didn’t have to look twice to see who she meant. The man was staggeringly huge, even from this distance. He had something slung over his shoulder and was still making his way down the cliffs at considerable speed, like some kind of highlands hare.

“Looks like one of them’s injured,” Aiden said, handing her the telescope. She peered through it.

“Little blond fellow,” she said. “Do we know him?”

“On the _Recidivist_? That’d be th’captain, I’m guessing.”

“The immortal one! Time to test if the rumours are true after all,” she said, handing the telescope back. “My, look at how fast they’re rowing. Must be a bad injury. I wonder what they actually came for?”

“Guess we won’t know.” Metal clinked. “No hostilities. Seems they’re not goin’ to open fire, so-”

“Neither are we, though I’m sorely tempted,” Captain Malai said. “Now where’s our crew?”

 

     It felt like a tense eternity for Kestrel, kneeling against the railing, staring at the shore. At length the First Mate waved, and he ducked nervously back behind the railing and resumed hastily scrubbing. But not before waving back. He wondered what she’d meant by ‘they’ – maybe the mysterious Tair?

 

     He wondered what Tair was like, as he scrubbed at a dark stain on the deck. Alie hadn’t spoken much about him considering that she was singlehandedly rescuing him from a heavily-armed naval base. All he knew was that Alie thought he was great, but that nobody was allowed to tell him that; he supposed that if Alie thought someone was great they couldn’t be that terrible a person. Then again, there was the physician. Who wasn’t terrible so much as terri _fying_.

“There we are,” the captain said, just loud enough to hear. Kestrel stood up to take a better look, just in time to catch Captain Malai’s amused stare aimed right at him. His knees felt as steady as rotten wood and he scuttled out of her gaze, feeling soft and spineless.

 

     Another eternity passed. He heard splashing.

 

     And abruptly a hand slapped onto the railing and curled around it like a crab gripping its prey. Kestrel stared at it. It was the largest hand he had ever seen. The person who the hand belonged to heaved himself over the railing, and Kestrel had to concede that the hand made sense when you considered the rest of the man.

 

     He was also covered head to toe in blood, which made Kestrel instantly regret standing downwind. He tried not to reel. The giant straightened, and kept straightening – he was a behemoth, like the man who’d been running down the cliffs, and he finally understood what Captain Malai had meant – and then Alie scrambled up after, similarly bloody, and looked around. He gave her a watery smile, and cleared his throat.

 

     The First Mate followed Alie up, and the carpenter, but Alie made her way over to him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he said, trying not to inhale.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” she said, peering at her bloody hands. “Here, let me borrow your bucket.” Before he could say anything she knelt down and began splashing water over her arms, which dripped onto the surrounding deck. He found he couldn’t bring himself to mind much.

“Are you, um – are you hurt?”

“It’s mostly other people’s,” she said. Behind her, the First Mate nudged the enormous man, who Kestrel guessed had to be the mysterious Tair, and whispered something to him.

 

     Tair glanced at Kestrel over one shoulder, and then his eyes went to Alie. Kestrel tried to shrink into his shirt. He was spared by the First Mate patting Tair on his bare chest.

“You should get that looked at, hero,” she said, tapping his shoulder, which was sluggishly leaking blood. She looked at him meaningfully.

“Think I’d rather go another round with the marines,” Tair said, grimacing. He had the deepest voice Kestrel had ever heard, like a double bass being played over the sound of someone crushing iron nails. “Where’s Her Excellency? Got something she’ll need to hear.”

“Then you should probably say it!” Each of the captain’s footsteps made a sharp click as heel met deck. “Or would you prefer it in private?”

 

     “Fuck you!” Tair said loudly, pointing at her. “You sold me for the fucking bounty!”

“Of course! Eight hundred in gold, would you rather it lay idle in a navy lockbox? I think it’s put to better use where it is.”

“In your lockbox? Captain, my feeble mind cannot even begin to fathom the fucking difference.”

“Certainly. It’s _my_ lockbox! Do you know what a difference that makes?”

“Yeah, a few extra pounds of ballast,” he snarled. “Shut up and listen! I saw pirates from that ship in there, inside the fucking base.”

“They were after this,” Alie said, fumbling in her coat, and she tugged out what looked like a torn rag. Upon closer inspection Kestrel could make out the faint silhouette of lines on it.

“A map!” Captain Malai crowed, and took it from Alie, holding it gingerly up to the light. It was very tattered-looking, and covered in – Kestrel realized with a horrid lurch – bloodstains.

“Seemed pretty keen on it,” Tair said, “one of them started raising high hell when he dropped it. Shouldn’t have dropped it in the first fucking place.” His face split into an awful grin. He had very white teeth, which somehow made the blood all over his face look much worse, Kestrel decided faintly.

“I am very grateful for his noble sacrifice,” the captain said solemnly, lowering the map. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Tair said. He took a few lurching steps towards the captain. “The next time you have to sell a crew member to marines, how about you sell the – whoa-” He staggered sideways and the captain neatly sidestepped.

 

     Tair hit the deck with a _thump_ Kestrel thought he could feel through the entire ship.

“Huh,” Alie said. Judging from the silence, most people agreed.

“That’s inconvenient,” Captain Malai said at last. “Someone run and fetch the sawbones, will they? Was he shot?” The First Mate was already up and running. Kestrel watched, bewildered.

“Probably,” Alie said. “But this hasn’t happened the other thousand times he’s been shot.” She crouched over him. “He’s still breathing.”

“Infinitely better than not breathing!” the captain said. “The pirates – you saw them too?”

“Yeah,” Alie said, peering more closely at Tair. “Four of them. One of them was being carried by another one his size,” she said, nodding at Tair. “Not as ugly, though.”

“Was th’one being carried some pale little blond fellow? Eyes fit t’freeze th’hearts and souls of anyone who met his gaze?” the quartermaster said, coming up behind the captain. He gave Tair a long, sad-eyed look.

“If I’d seen his eyes I wouldn’t be here to tell about it, according to you,” Alie said flatly. “Small and blond fits, though. Who were they?”

“Crew of the _Merry Recidivist_ ,” the quartermaster said, scratching his head.

“What, here?” Alie wrinkled her nose. “Why is the island still standing?”

 

     The captain was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the First Mate, towing the physician along by one arm.

“I found him!” she shouted cheerfully. The physician looked vaguely affronted by this, but allowed himself to follow behind, until she let go and he laid eyes on the blood-covered heap of Tair.

“Ah,” the physician said. “I had not expected the effects to be quite so dramatic.”

“You know what this is?” Captain Malai said. And then, “Oh, _again_? _Really_?”

“Yes. I will have to alter the proportions for future use,” the physician murmured, pressing his fingers to Tair’s neck. “Was he coherent and coordinated until it took effect, or did he begin to-”

“Science later! Medicine now,” the captain said archly. “Can you wake him up?”

“No,” the physician said.

“Try anyway!”

 

     The physician rolled his eyes. Before anyone else could move, he grabbed a handful of Tair’s hair, raised his head a small distance, and promptly slammed Tair’s face into the deck. Kestrel clapped his hands to his own face in sympathy.

“Medicine,” the physician said, with heavy sarcasm, “says no.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to make do with Alie until he comes around,” the captain sighed. “No more of those potions!”

“It got him off the island alive,” Alie said.

“No more potions without consulting me first!” Captain Malai said, almost without pause. “Alie, Aiden, Naishi: with me. Cabin boy! Go and fetch my navigator and bring him to my cabin! Sawbones: you’re on your own. Try not to make it twenty- _nine_!”

“Twenty-three,” Alie mumbled, slipping into step behind the captain. She shot Kestrel a quick glance.

 

     He smiled weakly back, and then he was left on the deck with the carpenter, the physician, and the unconscious Tair. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Nairen,” the physician said, peeling up one of Tair’s eyelids. It sounded like a question.

“Absolutely not!” the carpenter declared. “He is filthy bilgewater scum and if you do not kick him overboard then I will.”

“You may of course knock his head against the walls as many times as you wish,” the physician offered blandly. Nairen paused, and considered this.

“Acceptable,” she said eventually, and leaned over to grab one of Tair’s arms. Together they dragged him slowly to the ladder, leaving a trail of blood across the deck. Kestrel eyed it with trepidation before dropping his brush into the muddy red water in the bucket. After that, the navigator was a downright pleasant alternative.

 

     He found the navigator sitting in the room he guessed was shared with the physician, Alie and the boatswain, and wondered sadly if they got a better night’s sleep. The navigator was staring at a map which he had spread across the floor, and was writing something on it with a little quill pen.

“Uh,” Kestrel said, swallowing. The navigator looked up. Kestrel’s knees buckled.

 

     The world was dark and smoky and he couldn’t breathe; the air reeked of something dead and heavy and he could not talk around something in his mouth, choking him, pulling him down. He reached for the air and felt only cold water against his palms. No matter how hard he struggled he couldn’t reach the surface, couldn’t breathe, something was dragging him further and further from the air-

“Are you alright?” the navigator was saying frantically, gripping Kestrel by the shoulders. “Oh – oh no, oh no-”

“Oh god,” Kestrel gasped, clinging to the doorframe. “I – I just-”

“You just fell over! And you were choking,” the navigator said desperately, clinging on to him. “Are you alright? Oh, please, you are alright, aren’t you – _aren’t you-_ ”

“I’m fine-” Kestrel clapped a hand to his chest and took a heaving breath. Slowly, the navigator’s hands eased away.

“I’m so sorry,” the navigator said softly, and threw his arms around Kestrel. He blinked back tears in his eyes and wondered whether he should hug the man back; gingerly, he put one arm around the navigator’s narrow shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he said awkwardly. “Uh – the captain wants you in her cabin.” He winced the second it was out of his mouth, because the navigator went tense under his hand.

 

     “Oh,” the navigator said faintly.

“It’s – do you want me to, uh, tell her, uh-” he stammered.

“No, no. It’s alright,” the navigator said, getting slowly to his feet. “Have they found something?”

“A map,” Kestrel said tentatively.

“Oh. Yes, I see.” He seemed to brighten up. Some of the crushing weight eased off Kestrel’s shoulders. He took another deep breath, and then another, and then it became a lot easier.

“Well, maps are exciting, aren’t they? They could lead us to new things!” His smile, when it finally came, was small and sad. “Thank you. I’m sorry about that,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic, and left.

 

     Kestrel pressed the heels of his palms to his forehead. His stomach hurt. His chest hurt. He wondered if all pirates were this strange, and whether he _would_ have been better off as a slave on the other ship. He supposed he’d never know. The sea was a big place, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To find out who those mysterious other pirates might be and what they were doing there, check out [chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951641/chapters/13765546) of tozettewrites' _Though Every Drop Of Water Swear Against It_.


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever the captain had decided, it was decided quickly. They were out on the open seas before too long. As the least terrifying person on the ship – though after today he was starting to reconsider – Alie was his first port of call for answers, but she was nowhere to be found. After a while he stopped glancing surreptitiously around the deck and went back to scrubbing industriously.

 

     She wasn’t at dinner, either. He braved the galley alone.

 

     When he crept into the cabin that night and climbed into his hammock, the First Mate gave him a long, thoughtful look that turned his knees to jelly. But she didn’t say anything. Not right then, anyway; she said plenty later on in the night, most of which he wished he couldn’t hear, and none of it to him.

 

     It wasn’t until the next morning, when he stumbled into the galley bleary-eyed and unsteady, when he saw Alie. She was sitting in her usual corner, one arm bandaged, regarding her bowl of mashed-up hardtack – probably empty by now, if he knew Alie. He had to wonder how she’d cleaned off _all_ the blood, and if she’d had to burn her clothes. And where had it all come from? Surely one person didn’t have enough blood in them to coat Alie from head to toe, and definitely not enough to coat Tair.

 

     When she saw him, she straightened up a little. Then she held out her empty bowl. He sighed, and put half his hardtack into it, which she proceeded to devour with more gusto than anyone should ever have eaten dry hardtack with. It was a small miracle she still had all her teeth.

“Hello,” he said awkwardly, settling down next to her. “Are you alright?”

 

     She shrugged. “It was just a graze. Sorry I got other people’s blood on your deck.”

“Oh. That’s alright,” he said, “it’s not like there’s much else to do. Um – where are we going?”

“Temperance,” she said. “It’s full of pirates and assholes. Who aren’t us. They want to ask about the map.”

“It looked quite old,” he said tentatively. “And quite fragile. Was it for treasure?” He tried a smile.

“Probably not,” Alie said, “but whatever it’s for we can probably find someone to sell it to.”    

 

     The entire ship seemed alive with motion when he emerged on deck with his brush and bucket. The carpenter, the First Mate and the quartermaster were doing something with the sails; the captain – and her hat – were busy at the helm. Even the lean, scowling boatswain was there, ignoring the dog at his heels as he conducted a furiously animated conversation with the captain. Kestrel had just found a good spot to begin scrubbing when someone bellowed, “ _BOY_ ,” at him, in the same tones with which the boatswain addressed the dog. In fact the dog perked up. Kestrel, on the other hand, nearly threw his brush overboard.

 

     His limbs wouldn’t quite obey him, so he ended up doing a jerky half-shuffle, half-turn to see who was shouting. It was the carpenter. The First Mate had paused doing whatever she had been doing to stop and watch, which made him nervous.

 

     This close the carpenter’s branching scars were really very impressive. Wherever skin showed so did they. And while her hair was white and wispy like an old woman’s she really wasn’t that old, he thought, maybe only ten years or so older than he was. It didn’t make her any less terrifying.

“I have been instructed to make you bedding. Stand, boy!” the carpenter said, peering at him. He found himself obeying instinctively: the carpenter had a voice like his Head of House, and – he would have bet money on it if he’d had any – as strong an arm, or stronger.

“Yes,” the carpenter mumbled after a few seconds, staring him up and down. Kestrel shifted uncomfortably. “Do you like hammocks, boy? Of course you do! There is no companion at sea more faithful than a sturdy hammock!”

 

     Kestrel found himself nodding, terrified.

“Hammock cord!” the carpenter bellowed, waving her arms at him. Kestrel scrambled for the door. “In the storeroom near the sawbones’ medicine room! Two pounds of it, boy! And two bars of hardwood! Or you’ll sleep on the floor for the rest of your days!” He had never heard a statement of fact sound so much like a threat.

 

     It took him some time to find the storeroom, but when he did he realised that it was the same room he’d woken up in, a week or so past. He wondered if his family had realised that he’d never reached Abstemious College. He wondered if they’d make any investigations, or they’d simply assume that he’d done what his brothers had always threatened to do and run away from home.

 

     There was an odd heap against the far wall, what looked like rags and other spare cloth, something big and solid piled on top of it. Kestrel tried to pay it no mind. Hammock cord, hammock cord: what did hammock cord look like? There was a roll of some thinnish rope on a shelf, similar to what he’d seen while sleeping in Tair’s hammock. He climbed gingerly around a stack of boxes and eased the roll off the shelf. It was surprisingly heavy.

“Girl?” The heap moved. Kestrel dropped the hammock cord with an echoing _thump_. It landed almost on his toes but he didn’t dare make a noise in case the owner of the voice heard it.

“Hey,” the shape said, and Kestrel suddenly realised who the voice belonged to.

“N-no,” he said shakily, “it – it’s me. Um, Kestrel.”

“Oh,” Tair said, and slumped back against the wall. Kestrel bent down to pick the cord up with trembling hands; it took him three tries to gather it up again.

“Uh,” he said, faintly, hoping that Tair wouldn’t actually hear, “d-do you have a knife?”

“He does not,” the physician said from the doorway. The bottom of Kestrel’s stomach dropped out and kept going. He almost heard the wet smack it would have made upon hitting the floor.

“And you should be grateful for that,” the physician continued calmly, striding across to Tair; he had two bottles and a roll of cloth in one hand and a bucket in the other. “His aim is deadly from eighty paces.” He knelt down and uncorked the bottle.

 

     “Get back a hundred paces and I’ll show you,” Tair rasped. His voice was thick and slurred.

“Out of range. Your concern is appreciated,” the physician said. “Here, boy. Though you should frankly become more familiar with a sword.” Something skidded across the floor to Kestrel and tapped against his shoe. He managed to unfreeze for long enough to stare down at it. It was a knife.

“Kid afraid of a little bloodshed?” Tair barked a laugh. “How soon before we snatch another cabin boy?”

“You will not be present at that kidnapping either, if you do not _stay still_.” There was a thump. Stiffly, Kestrel retrieved the knife and started sawing at the hammock cord.

“This may hurt,” the physician was saying, “though you can take some comfort knowing it was your own idiot fault. Breathe deeply.” The hiss Tair made suggested he wasn’t taking any comfort at all. Kestrel sawed faster.

“It was the bullet’s fucking fault,” Tair said.

“No person in their sane mind storms a marine base single-handedly,” the physician pointed out, very slowly and deliberately. Hammock cord severed, Kestrel awkwardly unhemmed himself from between stacks and shelves and went hunting for the hardwood. They were just rods of wood, right? He left the knife cautiously on a shelf, wedged between two boxes so it wouldn’t slide off; it would be bad if he trod on it and hurt his foot, especially since the physician seemed to be quite occupied.

“Had two pairs of hands, thanks.”

 

     “That is twice as many as one pair of hands, and continues to be an inane number of hands with which to storm a marine base.” The physician sounded more amused than concerned. “Incidentally, did you enjoy the hospitality of the Imperial Navy? People speak often of the stale bread, and the rat is very fresh.” There was a barrel with three wooden rods in it. Cautiously, Kestrel made his way over, trying not to dislodge any of the other precariously secured piles of boxes. He wondered what they might be.

“Still better than your cooking, you fuck. And gentler than _your_ tender hands.”

“Oh, I am tender. The other twenty-eight will tell you as much,” the physician purred. “Tell me, Tair: when they chained you to the posts, who did you imagine holding the whip?” Tair didn’t answer, but there was a sudden shift in his breathing that Kestrel could hear from across the room. The physician continued, sweet and slow, “When they let you feel the back of their hand whose hand did you imagine in its place?”

 

     Kestrel’s back prickled. He swallowed. Slowly, he got to his feet, clutching the cord and the rods.

“You – fuck,” Tair said breathlessly, but the inflections weren’t right for a curse. The physician said something low, inaudible, but the sound was soft and silky. Tair growled in answer. Kestrel’s spine went stiff. He recognized that sound, just two octaves higher and coming from the cabin floor after first watch. He started for the door, and stopped.

 

     The physician was straddling Tair’s lap, one of Tair’s large hands creeping jerkily up his shirt. His head was tipped back and Tair was mouthing the length of his neck and the physician was just smiling faintly, eyes shut, like a cat in the dairy. He shifted. Tair made a low, surprised sound, muffled by the physician’s pale throat; the physician’s hips moved again and Tair bit down on the man’s shoulder, gasping harshly.

 

     “Um,” Kestrel said, and abruptly wished he hadn’t. The physician cracked one eye open, brilliant green in the low light, and regarded Kestrel languidly. Tair flopped back against the wall. His mouth left a wet stain and a dull reddish mark.

“Were you intending to join us, boy,” the physician said, voice hoarse, “or do you prefer to watch?” Tair laughed, thick and drugged. Kestrel took one look at Tair’s hand, pawing at the physician’s trousers, and bolted from the room, pausing only long enough to shut the door behind him.

 

     He didn’t stop running until he found the carpenter, who was sitting on a barrel abovedecks and polishing an iron crow four feet long.

“Um – here,” he gasped, shoving the materials at her with trembling hands. She looked at them, then at him.

“That was quick, boy,” she said. “Good work.” He nodded wildly, handed them over, turned around, and ran smack into the First Mate. She nodded when she saw him, as though she was pleased with what she saw.

“Oh! Is Nairen making you a hammock like I told her to?” The First Mate beamed. “I’m so glad she’s gotten to it.” Kestrel stared mutely up at her.

 

     He spent the rest of the day scrubbing the deck out of the First Mate’s sight.

 

     “I didn’t see you today,” Alie said that night in the galley. He flushed and ducked his head and shovelled more stew into his mouth industriously to keep from having to answer her. Sadly, his bowl wasn’t bottomless.

“I, um, the carpenter’s making me a hammock,” he said finally.

“Good,” she said. “We could put you in one of the storerooms. You’re not very big.” He had to wonder about the irony of that statement coming from Alie.

“That sounds fine,” he said, and it really did. “As long as it’s not the one next to the physician’s room. Um.” He winced. `

“Not that one,” she agreed. “The screaming would wake you up every night.”

 

     His first thought was that the screaming already did. His second thought was- “-what?” Alie hunched over slightly and stared pointedly in the opposite direction for a long moment.

“Never mind,” she said.

“Alright,” he said, and then, “wait,” and then, “you know _too_?”

“About what?”

“About – um – Tair, and um-” Her facial expression suggested she was waiting for the rest of the sentence before she admitted to anything. “-um – the physician?”

“Congratulations,” she said, with a long, pained sigh, “on discovering the worst-kept secret of the _Nimble Fingers_. You win a prize. Here,” and she piled her empty bowl into his and, as an afterthought, dropped her spoon in it.

“Um, but – I don’t understand-”

“If you did,” she said, “we’d have to give you some kind of award.”

 

     They arrived in Temperance waters six days later. Even when the city was still a tiny smudge of darkness on the horizon, he could feel the difference – all around them, there were more ships than he’d ever seen. Every so often he would look up from scrubbing and see another set of sails; bright red and cerulean blue but, more often than not, patchy white. One ship, a towering thing with more cannons than he could count that could have fit three of the _Nimble Fingers_ in its hull, end to end, had sails that were completely black.

 

     And every ship was crawling with scruffy, unkempt men and women, every one with weapons in their belt and a hungry, skulking look. When he looked at them he thought about the silhouette of the slaver ship they’d encountered in Justice, and wondered with a little shudder if he’d see them again.

 

     Every so often the captain of a ship they were passing would shout out greetings or insults, and Captain Malai would reply in kind, and on one occasion almost rammed the _Nimble Fingers_ directly into the other ship’s hull. The crew had settled into a state of palpable watchfulness: out on the open deck there was less talk, and what little there was would be nothing important, and every time another ship sailed past the crew would watch them go like wolves staring down prey. Kestrel wondered if there was another ship that they had passed at some point, where a young cabin boy had looked at the _Nimble Fingers_ and seen a bunch of raggedy pirates looking back at him and felt terribly, terribly nervous.

 

     Temperance: city of pirates. To hear Alie tell it, Temperance was market, haven, watering hole, or home for every unsavoury sort on the eight oceans. And somehow, Kestrel Iskan had ended up on a ship purpose-bound there, in the company of characters themselves not much more savoury than the hardtack.

 

     That morning they crammed into the galley all together, with the exception of Tair. Kestrel suspected he wouldn’t have fit anyway.

“When we get to Temperance,” the captain announced, hands on hips, “our main objective is to find out what the map is for. For god’s sake, be _subtle_! Bigger share for everyone if it’s one crew and not two,” she said, to a general murmur of agreement. “So: Aiden, talk to your people. I’ll do the same. Kanil, you chat to the cartographers and the old sailors, see if there's anywhere in the known world that matches up with that damn map, it’s no use to us the way it is. Naishi, go with him.” The First Mate beamed and fired off a quick salute. The captain continued, “Since we're going to be in port we might as well pick up some fresh supplies – Saren, Nairen, you get whatever we need. Gaelon, how’s that one in the storeroom?” It was with a start that Kestrel realised she was addressing the physician.

“Healed, essentially,” the physician – Gaelon – said. “If I do not give him the next dose he will be mobile in three hours, coordinated in five.”

“Do that. I want him visible on the deck in Temperance in case anyone thinks about trying something. Apologies, but you don't announce terror and bloodshed the same way he does!” The physician gave this a little shrug, as if to lament the unfairness of his lot. “The ship’s yours. And his. I’m sure you can come to some sort of agreement.” This was greeted with low laughter from some of the crew. Even the captain snorted, softly.

 

     “Alie, do your thing onshore,” the captain said. “If you hear anything interesting, about the map or otherwise, let me know. And if you see the crew of the _Recidivist_ , then shout out, will you?”

“Done,” Alie said.

“Good! Now, we’ll reach Temperance by midday. You know what you have to do. Get out!” Almost magically, the crew dissipated, leaving only the captain and Alie and Kestrel.

“What about him?” Alie said, pointing. Kestrel winced.

“Well, seagull,” Captain Malai said, cocking her head, “what do you think? Would you like to go onshore, into a town full of notorious murderers and vicious never-do-wells and scummy, treacherous, filthy, cruel _pirates_?”

“N-no?” Kestrel squeaked.

“Good lad! I’m sure the sawbones can find something for you to do on board.”

“Um,” Kestrel opined.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Alie agreed.

“Pirates, seagull,” the captain said cheerfully. “Filthy ones. Ones that haven’t bathed in a year.”

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Kestrel said hurriedly.

“Good! I’ll tell him to expect you. If it’s any consolation,” Captain Malai said, in a tone that suggested it wouldn’t be, “the pirates with the highest bounty will be on _your_ ship.” She strode off, whistling.

 

     Temperance _smelt_ ; that was his first impression of it. The captain definitely hadn’t been joking. Even from the ship he could pick up the traces of rotting fish and cooked food and sweaty, dirty people; and it was _loud_ , calls echoing over the waves and the low, persistent hum of human voices and the screeches of seabirds. The ships were jammed in close together in the harbour, and he watched in wonder as the captain deftly docked the _Nimble Fingers_ between another ship of the same size and a small, light thing that barely came up to their gundeck.

 

     The crew disembarked in a slow trickle. The captain was the last to go: he saw her making her way down the wide street, distinguishable among the press of people by her crest of waving feathers, and then she turned a side street and vanished from view. Which left him standing on the deck of a pirate ship, with a notorious murderer and a vicious never-do-well – or so he suspected, based on the bounty – both of whom were pirates. Kestrel supposed that it had to be a situation of the devil you knew.

 

     He stood there watching the people milling on the harbour for a moment, and then sighed and made his way belowdecks, slowly and not a little unwillingly.

 

     The physician’s room was filled with shelves and shelves of dried things and liquid things and, he was quite sure, dead things. Bunches of dried plants dangled from the ceiling on little hooks. Hanging on one wall, quite out of place, was a cutlass in its sheath.

 

     In the centre of the room was a large wooden table with a raised lip, with grooves along its surface and small holes along its sides. There were also dented shackles hanging from its corners. Kestrel swallowed. He inched closer, half-expecting to see dried bloodstains on the surface, but it looked like it had been meticulously scrubbed.

“Given time you may see it put to use,” the physician said, and Kestrel whirled around, heart hammering. Gaelon was leaning in the doorway. His gaze made Kestrel feel like a rat being faced with a particularly large snake.

“Do you read and write?” Gaelon said, hefting the large book he had been carrying. Kestrel opened and shut his mouth a few times, and settled on nodding.

“Good,” Gaelon said. “I require another copy of this. There are writing materials here,” he crossed to a small cupboard and nudged it open with the toe of one boot. “Will that occupy you sufficiently? I imagine it is a change of pace from scrubbing decks. Incidentally, they are the cleanest I have ever seen them.”

“Thank you,” Kestrel said uncertainly. “Um – the whole book?”

“Begin from the first page,” Gaelon said. “And go from there.” He handed Kestrel the book, gestured him to the small table and chair in the corner, and left without another word.

 

     Slowly, Kestrel sat down. The book smelt of rotted paper and age. He sneezed when he opened it and a cloud of dust drifted towards the ceiling.

 

     He had not gotten further than the first paragraph – the pen was scratchy, but serviceable, and to his private distress it was better than the one his family had bought him for school – when he heard someone moving in the corridor and sat bolt upright. The pen left a jagged splash on the paper. He scrabbled for a blotter and ended up smudging the entire last sentence, which he stared at in despair.

 

     The next second, the door was thrown open so vigorously that it bounced back off the wall.

“ _Gaelon_ ,” roared the apparition in the doorway. Kestrel shrieked. _Someone had boarded their ship_! Had it been the crew of the _Merry Recidivist_ , or marines, or-

“Who the fuck are you?” the apparition said. After the initial moment of wild hammering terror, Kestrel recognized Tair. He looked different when he wasn’t covered in blood or in the dark; in fact, from this distance, he just looked like any other man. Any other man who was so tall he brushed the lintel and had a grin like a hungry bear. His hair, Kestrel noticed with a start, _was_ thick bloody red.

“I, um,” he stammered. “I’m, um, I’m Kestrel, I’m the cabin boy, uh, I’m just – the physician gave me some work to do?” Tair’s grin widened.

“The kid in the storeroom,” he drawled, and Kestrel blanched and suddenly he was remembering this man making throaty animal noises against the wall of the storeroom with the physician in his lap. The blood shot to his ears so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t faint on the spot.

“Did you enjoy the view, kid?” Tair added, which didn’t help.

 

     A pale hand tangled into Tair’s hair and yanked him backwards. Kestrel caught sight of the physician in the moment between him hauling Tair out of the doorway and shutting the door. Barely a second later the door banged on its hinges as though someone had thrown something heavy against it; Kestrel started to his feet. He’d made it two steps before the door was hurled back open and the physician was sent staggering into the room, his hair coming undone from its braid like someone had yanked it apart. The look on his face made Kestrel’s face so warm he could probably have boiled water on it.

 

   Gaelon pushed his hair back. He straightened his sleeves.

“Upon further consideration,” he said, with a thin smile, “perhaps the whole book after all.” The door closed behind him with an ominously final click.

 

     A few minutes later, the screaming started. Kestrel kept his head down and wrote furiously and hoped against hope that at no point today was he going to see that medical table put to use.

 

     His hand was cramping thoroughly, his writing stiff and scratchy, by the time it was too dark to write. He busied himself storing the physician’s writing implements, cleaning the desk, and making sure the sheets he’d transcribed today were neatly put aside, before he crept to the door of the sickroom and knocked.

“Hello?” he called, feeling a bit silly. Nobody answered, so he cautiously opened the door and crept out. The corridor was empty.

 

   When he arrived on deck the captain was there, chattering loudly with Tair at the railing.

“-not a copper penny left between the three,” she said with a flourish, which sent cards spilling out of her sleeve and across the deck. “Damn! Oh well,” and she knelt to gather them up.

“I don’t fucking believe anyone is still stupid enough to play cards with you,” he said, grinning.

“Only when they’re convinced they cheat as heinously as I do. They don’t! Nobody does,” she said confidently, shoving the cards back in her sleeve. “Now, I hope dinner’s not just fish and hardtack again. Surely Naishi can rustle up something slightly better than that in Temperance. By the way, did you want your share from Justice?”

 

     There was a long silence, and then: “Yeah,” Tair said, and, “alright.”

“I’m not going to apologise,” Captain Malai said. “It was a marvellous amount of money. And you’re not worse for wear for it, are you? They’ll probably up it again now that you’ve broken out.”

“What are you going to do?” Tair said, glancing sidelong at her. “Sell me again?”

“Heavens, no. One breakout was hard enough. The marines were bad, the other pirates were worse. And now it’s led to this silly _map_ business,” she said. “What could this map be that they’d break into a marine base to steal it? Nobody seems to have a _clue_.”

“Wild goose chase, your Excellency? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“As long as it’s a profitable chase, I don’t think anyone minds. What’s the matter, scared of a little adventure?”

“You bring the adventure,” Tair said, “and I’ll hit everything between it and us.”

“Good man! That’s what I pay you for.” She patted him on the shoulder – she had to reach up quite a way to do it – and then she spotted Kestrel. “Seagull! Eventful time?”

“Er, yes,” he said quickly, but his eyes were on Tair, who had also turned around. He gave Kestrel a hungry little grin behind Captain Malai’s back, and a lazy little wave. Kestrel returned the gesture with a nervous smile.

“Glad to hear it! No more of that tomorrow,” she said, striding over the deck. “You’ll be out in Temperance with Alie. Four ears are better than two!”

 

     “W-what?” Kestrel said faintly. “But what about the – the pirates, and the – “

“She was quite insistent about it, really,” Captain Malai said with blithe unconcern. “Said – what was it? The ones on land would leave at least the recognizable parts of you.” She clapped him on the shoulder as she passed. “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it!” Looking over at Tair, who was still grinning, he was sure he knew exactly what she'd meant.

 

     That night, they retrieved his finished hammock from the carpenter, who insisted on unrolling it and measuring Kestrel against it before deeming it fit to lie on.

“Care for your hammock,” the carpenter intoned. “It will always be faithful to you and respect your need for sleep, unlike _some_ unworthy wretches.” At this she shot a filthy glance at the First Mate, who just smiled and waved. Kestrel and Alie beat a hasty retreat.

 

     She led him down to a door thankfully far enough from the cabins and the physician’s room that he would probably not hear the screaming. He guessed. If he was lucky.

“You’ll probably fit,” she said. “If anything falls on you in the middle of the night tell me and I’ll find somewhere else for what’s left of you.” He wasn’t sure if this was intended to be comforting. She shoved the door open. The wood shrieked.

 

     Something shifted against the rear wall. He managed an impression of long pale limbs twined around someone’s broad back, before Alie clapped a hand over his eyes with so much force that he nearly fell backwards.

“Close the fucking door,” came Tair’s unmistakeable growl, and then, “Making a habit out of this, kid, aren’t you,” and _then_ , “What the fuck, girl, cover _your_ fucking eyes.”

“I want to be surprised,” Alie said flatly, “but it just isn’t happening.”

 

     There was a long, harsh sigh, not the right pitch for Tair’s voice, and then, “One minute, Alia.”

“Speak for yourself, you prick,” Tair rumbled, and Gaelon’s breaths suddenly came high and stuttering and Tair purred. Kestrel was amazed that Alie didn’t get burns on the spot.

At length, Gaelon drawled, “ _Two_ minutes,” which made Tair hiss and Alie’s fingers twitch around his face.

“Never mind,” she said, “sorry to bother you, sir. Tair, go fuck a rusty sawhorse,” and she tugged Kestrel backwards out of the room.

“Tell me something new, girl!” Tair shouted, and then Alie kicked the door shut.

 

     “We’re going to put you,” Alie said, letting go of his face, “in the dry stores pantry. Because if Tair tries to have sex there sir will gut him and we’ll have meat for a week.” He thought about commenting, then realised that his vocal cords wouldn’t have worked anyway, and just nodded mutely.

 

     That night, he slept miraculously undisturbed by the cadences of the First Mate in the throes of passion. He had almost begun to get used to the noise.


	4. Chapter 4

   They slipped into Temperance in the grey light of early dawn, but Temperance didn’t seem to sleep, or at least kept stranger hours than any of the _Nimble Fingers’_ crew. Even as they made their way down the slick muddy streets there were already street vendors on the wharfs shouting their wares. Kestrel paused to stare wistfully at a vendor peddling charcoal-grilled squid. Only for a moment, but it was long enough for Alie to notice.

“Did you want some?” she said.

“It’s alright,” he said, starting determinedly off, “breakfast was enough,” but she was already tugging him back, flashing two fingers at the vendor, pulling out coins from her pocket with a little jingle. The squid were handed over on skewers and rapidly turned his hands greasy and wet.

“If you don’t eat yours I will,” she said, pulling out the browned squid meat between two fingers and cramming it into her mouth. “You’re going to need the strength anyway.”

“Why?” he said, giving the city a nervous glance. The buildings this close to the seafront were cobbled together out of salvaged driftwood and unevenly cut stone. They leaned against one another like tired old men. Between them the streets felt crowded and close.

“To not want to punch someone,” she said, chewing furiously. “Are you going to eat or what?” He took his share. It was smoky and juicy and trumped any fish stew or salt beef the _Nimble Fingers_ ’ galley could have pulled off.

 

   He followed Alie’s sure steps down increasingly narrow lanes, that dwindled to alleys, that dwindled to plain gaps between buildings. Her pace never slowed.

“Where are we going?” he said eventually, ducking under the line of someone’s threadbare laundry.

“The market. If there’s any news it’ll come through there.” She stepped around an overflowing slops bin and squeezed past a drainpipe. “We’re here. Hold your nose.” He eyed the narrow gap, and decided maybe to listen after he made sure he wasn’t going to get stuck in a back alley of a pirate town.

 

     Seconds later, he understood what she meant. The odour of Temperance seemed to pour out from this mess of cramped tents and creaky stalls and people; people were _everywhere_. Cramming the streets and overflowing out from between stalls and shouting at other people and weaving in between one another so the flow never really stopped. This part of the market seemed to be dedicated to livestock: everything with fur or feathers or scales was here, huddled in cages and wooden tubs.

 

     And shuffling through the scrum was a set of five battered people in chains. All of them were hollow-eyed and each, without fail, had an S burned into the side of their neck.

“Look,” he mouthed to Alie, and pointed. Her gaze followed the direction of his finger.

“Slaves,” she said. His stomach lurched.

“What are they going to do to them?” he whispered.

“It’s the market,” she said. “Guess.”

“That’s awful.” He watched the miserable procession, herded along by their caretakers. “Isn’t anyone going to help them?”

“Tair would, but he’s not here. Besides, he’s a moron,” but she said it without most of its usual searing dryness. She gave Kestrel’s shoulder a tentative pat. “Don’t look. Come on.” He followed her through the crowd, but he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, one last time, at the slaves.

 

     She led him away from the meat sellers and into an area dedicated to the sale of, he guessed, nothing in particular. A stall for glass beads was crammed up next to one that sold rusty knife blades and yet another one was piled high with what looked like driftwood.

“Getcher pieces of the Perseverance Dreadnought here!” bellowed the driftwood seller. “Genuine dreadnought hull! Wrecked by the _Nimble Fingers_ off the Sweet Mercy Isles! Good luck against marines and all their lawful ilk! One for each of you, lads?” Alie snorted and tugged Kestrel from his standing stop.

“Is that true?” he said, stumbling after her.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe they were really unlucky. Either way, he’s charging too much.”

 

     The array of stalls was dizzying: after a while, Kestrel stopped recognizing what they sold and became lost in a sea of colours, smells, and sounds. Until finally, Alie said, “Sit here,” dumped him unceremoniously down next to a wooden barrel, and perched herself neatly atop it.

“That’s it?” he said, blinking around.

“No. I hauled you off the ship to be murdered by pirates,” she said. “Who aren’t Tair,” she added as an afterthought.

“Oh,” he said uncertainly.

“It was a joke. I joked,” she said, and jerked her head at a point somewhere behind him. “That’s where all the ancient mariners come and swap gossip. Most of it won’t be true. Sometimes you can even tell the difference.” He risked a glance; there was a small dirt courtyard, fenced off by poles strung with bits of bright cloth, and a haphazard mess of makeshift seats scattered around. A haggard-looking young woman was scrubbing out wooden cups in a tub. One lonely sailor was sitting on an upended crate, staring pensively into his cup.

 

     “It doesn’t look like he’s going to be swapping anything with anyone,” he said, turning back to Alie. She shrugged.

“They’ll come,” she said. “I guess when you’re that age you don’t need to care about any hour before midday.” She pulled her knees up to the chest and wrapped her coat around them: perched on the barrel, she looked like some misshapen bird of prey.

 

     “Did we come so early because-” he started, then added anxiously, “Tair doesn’t seem to like me.” Alie snorted.

“He doesn’t,” she said. “Don’t take it personally. He’s a miserable shit and he hates everyone.”

“He seems to like the physician,” Kestrel tried. She looked at him.

“Yeah. Like ten barrels of oil likes an open fire,” she said. “Look, nobody understands. Nobody has understood since Tair was flogged for the first time and they ended up having two hours of sex in the sickroom.”

 

     Kestrel’s brain had shut down at ‘flogged’ and was starting to rattle unpleasantly by the time Alie got to ‘two hours’.

“He doesn’t like anybody I’m friends with,” Alie continued, apparently unconcerned. “He thinks because he’s bigger than me he needs to make sure I don’t make friends with people of ‘unsavoury character’. I don’t think he sees the irony. You look kind of pale. Did you get a bad squid? You should have let me eat it.” Kestrel made a plaintive whining noise.

“He won’t kill you,” Alie said. “He might rip a few bits off though. Only the ones that aren’t too important. But if he does I’ll rip important bits off him, so he’d better not.” Kestrel decided that he had heard enough about the fascinating topic of his potential gory demise at Tair’s enormous hands.

“That’s good to hear,” he managed.

“It won’t be good to see,” she said. He, and his stomach, came to a decision not to pursue the topic further.

 

     The first of the old men started to trickle in soon after. He was rather glad Alie’s estimate had been inaccurate: the dusty corner Alie had chosen for him was starting to make his buttocks ache. He got gingerly to his feet and stretched against the wall.

 

     Talk went slowly: old men gossiped about things he barely understood, from the trade conditions on some island to the movements of the navy. After a while he found his mind wandering. At least, until Alie jabbed him in the ribs: his attention jolted sharply, just in time to catch the tail end of one sentence: “-the map the _Nimble Fingers_ ’s said to have got?”

“Said they took it from under the noses of the navy,” one said.

“I heard it was a navy captain that did a deal with them,” a third said. “You know how it is on Justice.”

“It’s cursed,” the first one said in what was probably meant to be a confidential whisper but which Kestrel could hear quite clearly from where he stood. “Only bad luck and death befalls them who seek the treasure in the map!”

“You don’t even know what the treasure _is_ ,” another growled.

“I do! I do indeed,” the man said, clearing his throat. “It’s for the fountain of eternal life!”

“If the navy’s got a map such as that, they ought to share,” one said, sounding wounded, and that earned a chortle. They continued in this vein for some time, until finally their conversation turned to something else and Alie tugged him by the shirtsleeve and said, “Let’s go.”

 

     As they made their way out of the market – by a different route from the one they’d come by, which took them past quite a nice courtyard with a freely running fountain, Kestrel held up one hand.

“So the map’s: cursed, for the fountain of youth, for the heart of an immortal, for the lost treasure of the Pirate Queen Tahasir, for the key to the seven oceans, for a city made of gold-” He took a deep breath. “-not cursed, made by mermaids, made by sirens, intended to lure people to their doom, intended to warn people of the danger lurking there, made by the navy to trick pirates, for the land of the dead, and for the drowned nation of Qabat.” He sighed. “What have I missed?”

“The part about it being for the continent made of ice, and about it being a map to the edge of the world,” Alie said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“What are we going to tell the captain?” Kestrel said.

“The sensible bits,” Alie said, “though seeing as it’s the captain I don’t think she’ll care if it isn’t.”

 

     The streets away from the market were wider, and paved, under the layer of mud. Alie navigated them without faltering or pausing.

“You know Temperance fairly well,” Kestrel said hesitantly. “Were you – born here?”

“No. Born in Dignity, where the medical college was. Where sir was working.” She kicked a rock out of the way. “Not in the medical college, though. Or else I’d be in a jar right now. We just come to Temperance a lot. Naishi and the captain are from here.” Kestrel considered this, and found himself unsurprised.

“What about the rest?” he said. “Like Aiden, and Nairen, and Kanil. Was – was Gaelon from Dignity too?”

“His family’s from the Pieties.” Alie shrugged. “Aiden’s from the Unmercifuls, Nairen’s from Perseverance. Kanil’s from Tolerance. His family was rich.” He thought about mannerly, soft Kanil, and that seemed to fit. It fit better than the notion of Kanil as a vicious pirate, anyway, at least until Kestrel remembered – _drowning_ – he blinked at the recollection and gallons of dark water slipped away under his eyelids.

“Why did Kanil want to become a pirate?” Kestrel said. Alie didn’t answer for a while.

 

     He forgot about the question when the window of the tavern directly in front of them shattered, spraying shards of glass onto the street, and a body followed shortly after. Mud flew up from the point of impact and splattered their boots. The pedestrians exclaimed, and one or two stopped to stare, but for the most part they skirted around the body and went on with their business.

“Should we help him?” Kestrel whispered.

“Her, actually. I think. Do you want to piss off whoever just did that to her?” Alie said.

“Not really,” Kestrel said hastily.

“Good,” Alie said, and trod on them. And then she stopped, staring into the newly vacated frame. Kestrel came up behind her.

“What’s wrong?” he almost said. He didn’t need to.

 

     The First Mate had a man pinned to a table, her knees digging into his lower back, holding his arms behind his head at an angle achingly painful to behold. Kestrel’s eyes darted around the room. In a corner, with his hands to his mouth and his eyes the size of teacups, was the navigator.

 

     “That,” the First Mate was saying, twisting the man’s arm; he let out a horrible shrieking sound too high for a man of his size to make, “was impolite! Apologise to our navigator.” The man mumbled something. The First Mate pouted.

“That’s not a proper apology,” she said severely. “Look, he’s very upset! If you’re going to upset someone, then either do it where their crew can’t hear you, or _apologise right now or I will break every bone in your arm_.” She pushed a little harder. Kestrel’s gut lurched; there was no way anyone’s arm was meant to turn that way.

“Sorry!” the man screamed, struggling ineffectively. “ _M’sorry_ -” His voice cracked. The First Mate stayed there, for some moments longer, and then she let go and clambered off.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she huffed. “Kanil, are you alright? Oh – he got dirt on your front,” she sighed, dusting off the navigator, who was trembling on the spot. Kestrel knew how he felt.

“I – I’m fine,” Kanil said shakily, at length. “You – you needn’t have done that.”

“Yes, I did,” the First Mate said firmly, leading him to the doorway. “Come on! We’ll go elsewhere. Oh, Alie! Hello.”

 

     “Hello,” Alie said. “Unfriendly natives?”

“That goes without saying, in Temperance,” the First Mate sighed. “Honestly, some people. He just kept asking about the map,” she said in a lower voice, “and he wouldn’t leave poor Kanil alone. He was just so unfriendly!”

“All the same,” Kanil said, having regained some of his colour, “you really didn’t have to break his arm, Naishi.” He didn’t sound too displeased.

“It’s only a dislocation,” she said airily, linking her arm through his. “Any pirate worth his salt will know how to fix that.” On cue, there was a scream. “There, I’m sure he’s good as new. Did you want to go somewhere else?”

 

       Kanil didn’t get a chance to answer. A man stumbled to a halt in front of the tavern; he went for the door briefly before lunging for the window, sticking his head in and hollering, “They’re dragging someone to the central square! Gonna be a _show_!”

 

     The First Mate lit up like a bonfire. “Ooh, _yes_. We ought to go see that.”

“A show?” Kanil said, brightening. “That does sound exciting. What sort of show?”

“Oh, such a _good_ show,” the First Mate said. “We must be lucky. Come on!” They made off down the street, arm in arm, leaving only high fluting laughter. Kestrel tried to blink the glitter from his vision. Alie watched them go, chewing on her lower lip.

“What sort of show?” he asked, with a bit more trepidation.

“Not the fun kind,” she said eventually. “We might have to get Kanil out of there.”

“Why?” he said, trailing after her. “What’s happening?”

“Public flogging,” she said shortly, speeding up. He lurched to a halt.

“A flogging?” he echoed dumbly. “Oh, god. Can I just – go back to the ship?”

“What, back through Temperance? Two streets over and you’d see worse than flogging. You can close your eyes if you need to, come on!” Her grip was inexorable.

 

     The central square was already thronged with people. Alie made judicious use of her elbows, her boots, and on a few occasions, a knife; he clung to her shoulder and squeezed through the gaps she made. Once she turned back and mouthed something to him but he just gestured helplessly to his ear; the roar drowned out everything else. It hummed through the cobblestones and he could feel it in every person he jostled past in the pump of their fist or the stamping of their feet or the way they pressed and pushed against him.

 

     By some unspoken rule the crowd had left a gap, which surged shut the moment the unlucky victim had passed through. For one panicked second he lost hold of Alie’s shoulder.

“Alie?” he shouted, but it was lost in the jeering. “Alie!”

 

     A hand shot out of the crowd and clamped around his forearm and he shrieked.  
“There you are!” the First Mate said into his ear, and he could imagine the smile on her face. He fervently hoped the yelling had drowned out his outburst. “Ready for the show?”

“Naishi,” Kanil was saying, high and shaky, “what’s happening?” Kestrel peered between the mass of people and – just for a second – they parted, long enough for him to make out the victim smash into the post at the centre of the square. Kestrel’s heart stopped.

“Tair?” he said aloud.

“He does look awfully like Tair,” the First Mate said. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d heard him. “I wonder how they got another one. He’s not ours, though, he’s missing an eye!” Someone was tying the redhead’s hands to the post. Kestrel squinted through the crowd.

“Does he look familiar to you?” Alie said, in his _other_ ear. Kestrel took a deep breath and wished he hadn’t, because it meant his lungs were now full of Temperance air.

“Doesn’t he look like Tair?” he called. “But with one less eye?”

“That’s not that hard to fix,” Alie shouted. “No! The captain!” He braced himself on her shoulder and nervously raised himself onto tiptoes, but he couldn’t make out the captain through the throng.

“I can’t see him!” he shouted.

“I’m going to check something,” she said, and melted into the crowd. He whipped around, searching for any trace of her, but she’d vanished. He swallowed and settled back onto his heels. She knew her way around better than he did, and it wasn’t like he could move.

 

     “What’s he for, captain?” someone shouted. The captain’s voice cut through the roar, sleepy and cold and placid.

“He annoys me.”

 

     Laughter swelled. It was almost indistinguishable from the jeering. The remains of the grilled squid twisted uncomfortably in Kestrel’s stomach.

 

     Something glinted. Kestrel thought he made out the brief blur of something long and glittering and metal. The _crack_ that came after tore through the din and froze Kestrel to the spot.

 

     Even the crowd went silent, just for a moment. Then it came back in full force, even louder, people shrieking all around him. The blood was draining from his face. With every blow of the whip the screaming rose in volume, and behind him the First Mate cupped her hands around her mouth and whooped, “Put your back into it!” before tossing her head back, laughing wildly. Kestrel sank a little lower where he stood.

 

     It seemed to go on forever, and the crowd never tired of it. From the small glimpse he got of the man at the post, leaning unsteadily against it, covered with – red – from his elbows to his trousers, he hoped fervently that it would end soon. How did these things end? Surely they weren’t going to kill him? The captain’s cruel, steady voice echoed in his head – _he annoys me_ – and Kestrel swallowed, and looked away from the post.

 

     “I don’t think I can watch,” Kanil said suddenly, unsteadily, miraculously audible. He was gripping his own sleeves so hard it looked like his clothes might tear, eyes averted from the scene. “Can I – can I leave, please, if that’s alright with you?” The whip came down again and he flinched, breathing shallowly. His eyes were white-rimmed.

 

     The First Mate’s mouth traced the one word, _oh_. When she looked at Kanil it was laden with more understanding than Kestrel had suspected the First Mate capable of. She squeezed Kanil’s hand and jerked her head towards they’d come from, saying something Kestrel couldn’t hear. He wondered dully if he was meant to stay and wait for Alie. _Crack_.

 

     Kanil swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the First Mate said, patting his cheek. “It’s not your fault. How about I take you somewhere nice and you can sit there until it’s over? Well, as nice as it gets in Temperance, I suppose,” she added, frowning. “I wonder if they make the beer to taste like horse urine on purpose. Or maybe that’s what it actually is?”

 

     Alie reappeared at Naishi’s elbow and cut off any further criticism of the Temperance brewing industry with a hiss of, “Naishi, Kanil, I’m leaving. That’s the crew from the _Merry Recidivist_.”

“ _Are_ they now,” the First Mate murmured, eyes alight with sudden interest. “Take Kanil and the boy. Get them back onto the ship. Where’s the captain?”

“I can find her,” Alie said.

“No, don’t worry. I will. I doubt they’ll even know who I am,” Naishi said. “Is Tair on the ship?”

“Unless he’s knocked sir out and run off,” Alie said.

“Oh, he couldn’t possibly,” the First Mate said. “Go on. Go!” Alie’s hand closed around Kanil’s, and Kanil took Kestrel’s, and suddenly he found himself being towed along between the press of leering, jeering people, all set to the rhythmic snap of the whip and the man’s hoarse counting.

 

     Alie led them back by a quicker way than the one they’d taken, and it wasn’t long before he could see the waving masts and the rainbow of sails. Kestrel had never thought he would have been so relieved to see a pirate ship, but there was the _Nimble Fingers_ , still in one piece. He was even oddly relieved to see a slim dark-haired figure standing next to a large redheaded one on the deck of the ship. Terror and bloodshed.

 

     At one point they had passed through a street where the mud had been smeared as though someone large and heavy had been dragged through it, and Kestrel had averted his eyes and Kanil had made a low, distressed sound like a frightened animal.

 

     Alie ushered them up the gangplank with hisses of, “Go on, _go_ ,” and only once they were on the ship did she dash up after them.

“Quite a rapid return,” Gaelon said breathlessly, glancing at them over one shoulder. His loose braid had come halfway undone; he had shed his leather coat. He was also holding a cutlass in one hand.

 

     Kanil came to an unsteady halt halfway. He was clutching himself as though he was cold.

“Gaelon,” he said in a small voice.

“Put your weapon away,” Tair said, slouching against the main mast – he was sweating, shirtless, strands of hair plastered to his forehead. The grin on his face made Kestrel shudder a little, remembering those white teeth surrounded by browning blood.

 

     What he was holding in one hand was not like any sword Kestrel had ever seen. Admittedly, Kestrel’s experience with swords had been limited to a few awkward, painful fencing lessons at Iskan Manor, which had inevitably ended in more embarrassing bruises than he could count, and eventually his uncles had deemed it a waste of time and money for Kestrel. Nonetheless, Tair’s weapon did not look like a sword so much as an enormous knife, with a broad leaf-shaped blade. It also did not look like Kestrel would have been able to lift it using both hands and a crowbar, but as he watched Tair gave it a few lazy, effortless twirls. Kestrel looked at him. Then he looked at Gaelon’s cutlass. Then he looked at his shoes and hoped fervently that he was not going to have to see either weapon being used in the next day or so.

“You spill his blood and the deck won’t ever stop glittering,” Tair continued, grin widening hungrily. Gaelon tossed the cutlass at him; Tair snatched it out of the air.

 

     Kanil staggered over and almost fell onto Gaelon.

“Oh, god, Gaelon.” Kanil was nearly sobbing. “They – they hauled that poor man to the post and, and there was so much blood and people were screaming and, and mocking him and – it was _awful_ ,” he wailed, burying his face in Gaelon’s collar. Kestrel watched in mute horror, half-expecting the physician to appear a knife at any second and joint Kanil like a roasted fowl. Instead Gaelon put an arm around Kanil and made vague soothing noises and pulled out absolutely no sharp objects at all, which made Kestrel feel like something had just gone fundamentally wrong.  

“If it is any consolation,” Gaelon said dryly, “it is likely he deserved it. Pirates usually do.” Kanil’s fist tightened on Gaelon’s lapel.

“No! The captain said – the captain said he, he’d been annoying, that was all!” Kanil took a wet, gulping breath. “Can he – why would you say that?” He sagged. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you can,” Gaelon murmured, winding his fingers through Kanil’s hair, and pressed his lips to Kanil’s cheek in a way that suddenly made Kestrel decide there were other places to be. He turned around and stopped dead: Alie was there, but so, with his back to Kestrel, was Tair. In one hand was the cutlass, thankfully sheathed, but with the other he was spinning the oversized knife.

 

     “Of course you can’t,” Alie hissed, more animated than he’d ever heard her. “If they see you you’re crowbait, do you remember how loud their captain was shrieking?”

“Not like I could fucking miss it,” Tair said. “But if he wants the map he’ll have to pry it out of Her Excellency’s cold dead hands.”

“How do you know that’s what he _won’t_ do, you lousy useless selfish shitsucker?” She gave him an enormously rude gesture. Kestrel felt a little lightheaded. ”Now get the fuck below!”

“Please, girl, Malai’s passed through Temperance and come back with other people’s wallets,” Tair said. “What makes you think she’ll let some pretty little doll of a thing take it off her?”

“Coming from you that is hilariously ironic,” she said flatly. “Their captain dragged a man _your size_ down to the flogging post on a bad leg, so fuckstain, _stupid moronic_ fuckstain that you are, you could not have anything more useless in your skull if someone had opened it up and pissed in it, get the fuck belowdecks, for the love of _any god you know_.”

“Kid. Alie,” Tair said, kneeling down, and laid the huge knife flat on the deck. His voice had lost its usual mocking drawl. “It’s fine. If Malai hears they’re in town she’ll know what to do. Besides, they want to find the _Fingers_ , they’re going to have a hard time. Have you seen how many other shitty wrecks there are in port?”

 

     Alie’s eyes were huge. Her shoulders heaved slightly with the force of each breath.

“They don’t know which one of us has the map, or where most of us are, or where we’re docked,” Tair continued, more quietly. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and engulfed most of her upper arm in the process. “Breathe. It might help. I’ll go below if it makes you feel better, but they set one foot on this fucking ship and we’ll lay them open from throat to toes. Alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I know.” She cleared her throat, and added, more neutrally, “They say the _Recidivist_ has this guy who skins people and makes sausages out of their guts.”

“What does he do with the skin?” Tair sounded amused. Alie shrugged.

“Eats it too? Seems like a waste otherwise. Maybe he makes it into shoes.”

“They’re gonna be able to fit the entire crew from my hide,” Tair snorted, rising, picking up the knife. “They won’t even be able to get slippers out of you. Kids’ slippers, maybe.”

“Asshole,” she said, and smacked him in the hip. “Get belowdecks.”

“Fuck! I got it, I got it,” he said, throwing his hands skywards. “Sent to my fucking room. Shit, why’s he crying?”

“Because of your _face_ ,” Alie said. Kestrel blinked.

“I cannot fault her assessment,” Gaelon said. Kestrel blinked again.                                    

           

     “Choke on it, asshole,” Tair said. “Guess you need glasses.”

“The compensation from the trip to Justice was quite generous. I can consider it,” Gaelon said blandly. Before Tair could retort Kanil let out a low whine, and finally let go of Gaelon. His eyes were huge and damp and fever-bright. Black water, Kestrel thought, and salt.

“Can I go with you?” he said to Tair. His voice trembled, slightly. “I’d feel safer if you were there.”

 

     The look Tair and Gaelon exchanged over Kanil’s shoulder was unreadable. After a long pause, Tair shrugged one shoulder. The smile on Gaelon’s face could have been a figment of Kestrel’s imagination; he blinked, and it was gone.

“Sure,” Tair said. “Why not.” Kanil gave him a watery smile. It was like the clouds had parted.

“Thank you,” he said gently.

Tair gave him a lopsided little smile. “Heading that way anyway.”

 

     Kestrel turned to watch them, and suddenly all he could do was look at the ropy scars crisscrossing Tair’s back, stark white on his skin. The air around suddenly felt cold. On the edge of his hearing, he could still hear the ringing, and the _crack_.

“You should get below too.” Alie scowled. He took a moment to regain his breath.

“Do they flog people often?” he found himself saying.

 

     She regarded him for a long moment, scowl slowly fading.

“Everyone’s been flogged,” Alie said finally. “I have,” and before he could say anything she had lifted her shirt, exposing thick pink scars. Kestrel sucked in a breath.

“But they look _awful_ ,” he said frantically. “When did – when did that happen?”

“That was – last year, I think.” She frowned.

“Didn’t they hurt?”

“Yes,” she said, tugging her shirt back down, “that’s how you know not to do it again.”

“ _Everyone’s_ been flogged?” Kestrel’s voice came high and breathless. “Even – “ He cast about. “Even Kanil?”

 

     Alie’s eyes went dark and hard and flat in the space of a moment.

“Not Kanil,” she said. He shifted nervously and tried to tamp down the feeling he’d said something horribly wrong.

“He just seemed very distressed at the flogging,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

“I don’t know anyone who isn’t,” she said less stiffly. “Except the captain. And Naishi. And sir.” At that she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, to where the physician was retrieving his jacket, but he didn’t pay them any attention.

“Get below,” she said, giving him a little push. “Go on.”

 

     Captain Malai returned at nightfall, accompanied by the quartermaster and the First Mate, and when she summoned them to the galley she was beaming in a way that made Kestrel deeply nervous.

“-and this skinny pale one got up on there and said,” the First Mate was saying to her, stifling a giggle, “’you need to stop, I’m a doctor’!” They erupted into wild cackling.

“Oh dear,” Captain Malai said, wiping her eyes. “Oh dear, oh dear. Can you imagine Gaelon doing that?” The very idea seemed to send her into hysterics.

“He’d probably take over the whip himself!” Naishi clapped her hands to her mouth, which didn’t quite hide a muffled snort of laughter. Kestrel shifted uncomfortably and tried to hide behind the quartermaster, who was peering into a jar of pickles.

 

     They left Temperance the day after, and the anticipated boarding by the crew of the _Merry Recidivist_ never came. The threat of it hung in the air, though, and every time he looked up there would be the boatswain, polishing an axe, or the carpenter, hefting an iron crow, or Tair, just _being_. Eventually Kestrel decided that looking up was not worth the years it was taking off his life, and kept his eyes fixed downwards so resolutely that Alie told him he was going to get a neck ache.

  
     “I’m almost tempted to walk up and just _ask_ them what the silly thing’s for,” he heard Captain Malai complain once, over her bowlful of the First Mate’s cooking. It was full of chopped-up things Kestrel decided he’d rather not identify. “Maybe they’ve decided it’s more trouble than it’s worth, in which case they should share that with the rest of us.”


	5. Chapter 5

Days later, Kestrel was woken up in the middle of the night by a series of dull booms. He blinked and sat up in his hammock. This had the unfortunate side effect of tipping him onto the floor in a sprawled pile of limbs.

 

     He crept quietly into the corridor. Something heavy hit the lower deck close by. He flinched and went still, debating whether he should run towards it or hide in his room; in the end he decided to go and look. It might be more dangerous, but there would be other people around and they would know what to do.

 

     He rounded the corner. There was someone lying in the middle of the hallway. His heart thudded to a stop.

 

     They were lying in a trail of something dark and thick, which went all the way down the corridor and ended in an especially large pool at the base of the ladder to the upper decks. They didn’t move. They couldn’t have, he thought, because he’d never seen something move with that much of its head missing. He'd never seen anything with that much of its head missing.

 

     Someone was shouting.

 

     He stumbled back a few steps to the safety of his closet and pressed himself against the door, breaths squeaking in his throat. Somewhere, something heavy hit one of the walls with an audible _crunch_. Kestrel’s spine went stiff and he buried his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out.

 

     Over the creaking of the timbers he could hear footsteps, slow and unsteady. For a moment he couldn’t tell the sound from his own hammering heartbeat, except his heart managed to stutter multiple times in between each of those irregular steps. He didn’t even have a sword. The footsteps were coming closer. If he stayed there another moment they’d find him.

 

     Kestrel took a deep breath and bolted in the opposite direction.

 

     He ran out of breath somewhere around the gundeck, and paused to lean against the wall, panting heavily. No one here. No one except Kestrel, alone and unarmed, in a ship crawling with _pirates_. Overhead he could hear screaming, muffled by the thick timber, and then laughter – high and pealing. It was the captain’s. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

 

     He took a couple of careful steps into the open space, then another. Beside a pile of crates, someone moved. Kestrel’s heart almost burst out of his chest.

“H-hello?” His voice shook, and he winced the instant it was out of his mouth.

“Oh,” someone said, half a sigh of relief and half a sob, and Kestrel recognized that voice. He came tentatively closer.

 

     The navigator was huddled in the shadow of some cargo, half-hidden by a bale of cloth.

“Is it over?” Kanil whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Kestrel whispered back. “Are you – are you alright?”

Kanil shook his head. “I was meant to be in the map room, but someone – they frightened me.” He took a shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t have run. Are you armed?”

“No,” Kestrel said reluctantly. Kanil laughed a little, a high broken noise.

“Neither am I,” he said hollowly. “They’re looking for me, I think. Or the map. But I have the map, so I suppose I’m in trouble.” He shivered. “You – you shouldn’t let me say anything. If I start to speak, you have to stop me. Please?”

“I don’t understa-” Kestrel began, but the look Kanil gave him hammered him to the spot with sheer, inexplicable despair. He forgot how to breathe. When he finally remembered how to inhale, the first thing he did was gasp blindly; the next thing was to say, “I will,” and then, “how?”

“Keep telling me my name,” Kanil said, but then he went stiff and silent. His eyes were fixed on something over Kestrel’s shoulder.

 

     Neck prickling, Kestrel turned.

 

     “I found him!” the pirate shouted, and Kanil shrank back and buried his head in his arms. There were two of them, taller and bigger than Kestrel, with matching grins like hungry rats. Kestrel gulped.

“Out of the way, boy,” the nearest one said, shoving Kestrel aside. He stumbled backwards. The pirate grabbed Kanil, who flinched and cried out, and hauled him to his feet; he looked sick, pale as milk, his free hand clapped to his mouth. His eyes were enormous and terrified and Kestrel couldn’t do anything, rooted to the spot, his limbs wouldn’t move, he couldn’t look away from the cutlass in the pirate’s other hand –

 

     Gaelon’s voice, cool and clear and precise, cut over the roar in Kestrel’s ears like a knife through warm butter. “Excuse me.”

 

     He had a cutlass in one hand. Its blade was coated with something thick and oily black. Kestrel’s stomach rolled. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or a different kind of terror.

“Fuck that,” the pirate holding Kanil said. “We’re taking this, and if you stop us we’ll cut his throat.” Gaelon kept coming.

“Would your captain be so pleased with that?” he said coolly. “Your orders were to take him alive. _Boy_!” Kestrel’s spine went bolt upright; the two pirates were turning to look at him, and in that space of time Gaelon had closed the distance and put three feet of steel through the pirate’s ribcage. Kanil staggered away, hands to his mouth, and collapsed in a heap behind the crates. If Kestrel had been able to move he would have done the same.

 

     The next pirate slashed; Gaelon drew his sword from the pirate’s body, ducked under the swing, and his attacker’s cutlass embedded itself in the wall. Half a heartbeat later, a foot of cutlass sprouted from the man’s back. In one fluid movement Gaelon had risen, kicked him off the blade, and reburied the cutlass through the pirate’s neck.

 

   Kestrel gasped unsteadily. The body hit the ground with a wet, full noise. The sword stayed upright in the quivering corpse, which sent blood washing across the floor with every movement, and Gaelon went to Kanil.

“Kanil,” he said softly, cupping the navigator’s face, and made soft, soothing noises. “Quiet. Breathe.” He gently combed the hair out of Kanil’s eyes. It left bloody trails on his face, but Kanil barely seemed to notice. He made a low, distressed sound, swallowed hard, and then nodded, sagging against Gaelon’s hand.

“I’m alright,” he said, barely a whisper. “I – I didn’t say anything. I’m alright.”

“Shhh,” the physician murmured, stroking his hair. “Breathe deeply.”

 

     Kanil’s soft, heaving breaths were audible all the way from where Kestrel stood. He swallowed. Maybe he should offer to help, he thought, but his eyes went to the cutlass in the corpse’s throat and he shut his eyes and fervently willed himself not to throw up.

“They want me alive,” Kanil said weakly. “Oh. Oh god. Don’t let them take me, Gaelon, _please_.”

“Never,” Gaelon said, cold and factual as if he was stating a law of nature.

“Thank you,” Kanil said faintly.

 

     Gaelon’s head snapped up like a snake readying to strike.

“Boy,” he said to Kestrel. Kestrel gulped.

“H-hello?” he managed, and cringed a little, waiting for the physician to shred him for his cowardice.

“Get a sword,” Gaelon said, getting to his feet. He pointed, and Kestrel followed the line of sight. It was still attached to the corpse’s belt.

“Um,” he began, but upon seeing the look on Gaelon’s face he wisely decided to stop arguing. Tentatively, he made his way over. To get the sword he had to unbuckle the corpse’s belt, still sticky with the man’s blood. It proved too much for Kestrel, and for his digestive system; he leaned shakily to one side and proceeded to throw up.

 

     He wiped his mouth with one dirty sleeve and swallowed, again, tasting acid, and he wasn’t sure whether the lumps in his throat were vomit or fear.

 

     Gaelon was staring intently at the back of the deck. In one movement he tore a sheet of canvas off where it had been secured to a pile of crates.

“Kanil,” he said, “stay still, and do not make a sound.” Kanil swallowed and nodded, and Gaelon threw the canvas over the navigator’s head. Then he stood. He made his way around the crates. He had almost reached his sword by the time the three pirates had stormed up from the opposite side of the gundeck.

 

     Kestrel blinked. Kestrel swallowed. Kestrel willed himself not to throw up again.

“Don’t move!” the largest one bellowed, a huge, hulking man, almost as broad in the shoulders as Kestrel’s entire armspan. He had a revolver in one hand. Gaelon went still.

“Don’t fucking move,” the big man repeated, advancing. “Where’s your navigator?” He looked familiar. He sounded familiar, but Kestrel couldn’t place it.

 

     “I think that’s him,” another said. He had a face cross-hatched with scars, and a hatchet hanging from his belt, neither of which made him any less terrifying.

“That’s not him,” the big one said, “other one looked like he was going to cry the whole time. You going to cry, precious?” he said to Gaelon, and Kestrel would have taken a few steps back if he hadn’t been rooted to the floor. Gaelon didn’t answer. His eyes were intent on the three of them, hands open and relaxed by his sides.

“Hands in the air.” The big one motioned with the revolver. “Where’s your navigator? Where’s the map?” No answer. No move. Gaelon licked his lips like a snake tasting the air.

“Where’s the map?” the third one snapped, stepping forward, _into the line of fire_ , and Gaelon’s hand scribed a glinting arc from his belt to the man’s neck.

 

     The pirate staggered back, clawing blindly at the knife handle protruding from his throat, and Gaelon shoved the body at the pirate with the revolver and went for the knife. Too slow; the scarred one tackled him and slammed him against the planks and wrenched his arms up behind his back, drawing a hiss of pain. Kanil let out a breathless little sob that Kestrel could hear, that Kestrel could hear _so clearly_ , and he prayed that the pirates wouldn’t.

 

     “Where’s the fucking map?” the big one spat. Gaelon said nothing. Kestrel fumbled at the corpse’s sword belt, but his fingers were shaking too badly to manage it.

“We’ll break your fucking arms if you don’t tell us,” he added. “It’s only fair after that girl did for me.” Kestrel realized with a start that his face _was_ familiar: he’d seen it mashed against a tabletop in a greasy Temperance bar. The scarred one hauled Gaelon to his knees.

“Do you talk?” snapped the big one, and swung his fist. It made a dull smack when it collided with Gaelon’s cheek.

 

     Gaelon jerked, slumped sideways, made no sound. The pirate wound up again.

 

     From the back of the deck, something scraped. Both of the pirates looked up.

“Who’s there?” one of them shouted. Silence.

 

     The thing that came out took the one holding Gaelon off his feet and sent him skidding some way down the deck. Gaelon slumped against the floorboards with a little gasp.                                                            

  
     The big one turned in the direction it had come from – his friend was pinned under _a corpse, it was a corpse_  – and something hurtled out of the dark. Something that moved as fast as cannon fire, something mountainously huge, that tackled the big one with a low, guttural snarl and clapped two hands around his head and  _twisted_.   
  
     There was a loud, brutal crack. Kestrel flinched.

 

     Tair’s smile was wolfish. “What the fuck would you do without me?”

 

     Without waiting for an answer, he crept over to Gaelon. “You hurt?”

“Hardly,” Gaelon said thickly, heaving himself upright.

"I didn't miss you while I was in prison, you lying bastard," Tair said, but his tone of voice suggested quite the opposite. The remaining pirate groaned, and Tair’s head swung around like a bear scenting its prey.

“Hey, hey,” he purred, striding over, and planted one heavy foot on the man’s chest. The man made a low whining sound, like a kettle boiling. “Welcome aboard, fucker. What brings you here?”

“Fuck you,” the man grunted.

“Not now, sweetheart, I’m busy,” Tair said, and bore down. There was an audible creak of bone. The man screamed.

“The map!” he howled. “We were after the map!”

“What’s the map for?” Tair’s foot eased back, just slightly. The man sucked in a heaving breath, little high noises escaping his throat.

“It grants wishes!” the man wheezed. Tair waited a moment longer.

“Not very helpful, are you?” he said. “Fine. Our friend here’s a sawbones, you know,” he said. Gaelon’s smile came slowly, cold and implacable. Kestrel shuddered despite himself.

“Sawbones’ scary enough when he’s actually trying to fix you,” Tair said casually. “When he’s not – well, you’re in fucking trouble then, aren’t you? No, don’t get up,” he ground his foot onto the man’s flailing chest.

 

     “Yes,” Gaelon said wonderingly, kneeling down. “We start with an incision here, here, and here – “ He traced thin lines on the man’s face, drawing a flinch every time, as Tair pinned their victim’s arms to the ground. “-and then we use a scalpel to separate the skin from the flesh. Then we peel the skin back with forceps,” he purred, motioning delicately with forefinger and thumb. “Next we remove the eyelids-” He took a firm hold of the man’s face and Kestrel could hear the intake of breath from where he was, “and pierce the eyeball with-”

“That’s all I fucking know!” the man said desperately. “The, the map’s for some kind of treasure, some heathen magic that grants wishes – that’s all!”

“Who else has a map?” Tair said.

“No one! There was only one!”

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Tair said, glancing up at Gaelon. The look on his face really wasn’t appropriate for an interrogation. Gaelon appeared to consider for a moment.

“No,” he said.

“I don’t know anything else!” It was almost a wail.

 

     The silence seemed to go on forever.

“I believe you,” Gaelon murmured, finally. The sweat had gone cold on the back of Kestrel’s neck. Tair leaned forward, and put one hand to the man’s chin and one to his scalp, and then there was a horrid sharp noise and the man’s harsh breathing went silent.

 

     “Maybe we should have saved him for the captain,” Tair said, rising.

“The captain would have saved him for us,” Gaelon said blandly, and made his way over to the trembling sheet of canvas and pulled it off Kanil’s head.

 

     Kanil’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. When he opened his eyes they were as dark as the night sea, and Kestrel would have sworn he could see something _moving_ behind them.

“Hey, it’s alright now,” Tair said.

“Kanil,” Gaelon said very clearly, taking the navigator’s shoulder in one hand and his cheek in the other. Tair knelt down next to him.

“Easy,” Tair said.

“Breathe deeply,” Gaelon murmured, soft and soothing, and Kanil blinked, and suddenly his eyes were their normal shade of grey-blue.

“Oh,” he said faintly. “I’m not doing very well tonight, am I?” Tair snorted.

“We’re all still breathing air,” he pointed out. “Far as I can tell that means you’re doing fine. Let’s get you back to the map room.” They both got to their feet, and Gaelon helped Kanil to his.

“You still alive, kid?”

 

     Kestrel looked wildly around for Alie, before realising that Tair had addressed it to _him_.

“Um,” he said, “barely.”

“Better than nothing. You coming or what?” Tair was regarding him with a look Kestrel couldn’t understand. He thought, tremulously, that it might be contempt.

“I – oh. I’m coming,” he said quickly, scrambling to his feet.

“The sword,” Gaelon said to Tair. In reply to Tair’s questioning look, he nodded at the corpse.

“Finally!” Tair grinned. “About fucking time.” He crossed over to the corpse and, without any apparent effort, snapped the sword belt with his bare hands before tossing the sword at Kestrel’s chest. It took all of Kestrel’s coordination to catch it.

“Ever used a sword before?” Tair said, grin widening as though he already knew the answer.

“N-no,” Kestrel stammered.

“Better learn quick,” Tair said, teeth a horribly white slash in the dark, and then he started off after Gaelon and Kanil. After a moment’s hesitation, Kestrel stumbled after. The sword was cold and ungainly in his grip. 


	6. Chapter 6

They left Kanil and Gaelon in the map room, which was miraculously free of corpses, and then he unwillingly followed Tair abovedecks. Topside resembled an abattoir in the aftermath of a typhoon. Kestrel swallowed and averted his eyes from the corpses, which left him staring at the other ship.

 

     Even Kestrel could have realised that the other ship was in a bad way. One of its masts had been felled and was tangled in the rigging; bits of the railing lay in splinters across the deck. As he watched, the crewmembers had started to hack frantically at the ropes keeping their ship and the _Fingers_ close. One of the ropes snapped back across the deck of the _Fingers_ and landed in a loose coil near the foremast.

“ _Where do you think you’re going_?” Captain Malai’s voice cracked across the deck like thunder. “Come on, you sluggards, board them! _Board_! Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth! And if you see their captain, I want her _alive_!”

 

     Alie was the first; she darted past Kestrel in a blur of dark grey and crusted brown and took a sailing leap over the gap. Kestrel yelped. She could fall, she could be mashed between the hulls or pushed under the ocean and her body would be food for fishes and yet, improbably, she landed on an enemy sailor and slammed her knives into his eyes with one swift movement. He screamed. And then he went down, and Alie was still moving, a trail of glinting steel and gushing blood.

 

     There was a loud, shrieking whoop from overhead and Kestrel started, staring up; the First Mate swung off the rigging and came to her feet on the other ship’s deck with a graceful roll. Shortly after, the carpenter landed two-footed on someone coming up behind the First Mate. Her iron crow smashed through the next pirate’s face, splintering bone, and she tossed the weapon smoothly to her other hand and drove it upwards into her unlucky opponent’s jaw.

 

     Tair made his way unhurriedly across the deck, eyes intent on the other ship, until he was standing at the railing shoulder-to-shoulder with the captain.

“You're late.” Captain Malai tapped her foot. “Well?”

“Give me a minute,” Tair said, rolling his neck. “I can’t work under pressure.”

“That’s a pity!” Captain Malai said, and kicked him overboard. Kestrel rushed to the edge just in time to see Tair dive through a hole in the hull. Seconds later, somebody began to scream. Seconds after that, two people went flying out the hole and landed in the water with a splash, still screaming, and even over that and the creak of timber Kestrel could hear Tair’s grating, wild laughter.

 

     He took a few tentative steps back from the edge. In the dark everything was strange and sharp-toothed.

“Evening, seagull!” the captain said brightly. “Had your first taste of the kill yet?” He flinched. When he turned around the captain’s face was wreathed in smiles and covered in blood. It looked black in the poor light, but the smell was unmistakable. A body made a grab for her ankle; she shot it without blinking and casually shoved the pistol back in its holster.

“I – um,” he volunteered. Luckily, the captain didn’t particularly seem to care whether he actually answered or not.

“It looks like you’ll have plenty to do tomorrow! Good, you can earn your keep.”

“I, um,” Kestrel said faintly, “do I, uh, the bodies, I-”

“Oh, just toss them overboard,” the captain said. “Like this!” Without really looking, she kicked the nearest body off the railing. A few seconds later, he heard a splash.

 

     “Charmin'.” The quartermaster's drawling voice came from somewhere in the dark behind him, and Kestrel turned slowly around to behold the quartermaster and the boatswain, side by side and each looking almost as unimpressed as the other.

“I suppose,” the boatswain said flatly, “that we will have to loot them.”

“Of course!” The captain sounded deeply affronted. “Sometimes I don't think you quite grasp what it entails to be a pirate, padre.”

“I have an admirable grasp of what it entails, captain. It entails a lot of _numbers_ , none of which you believe you should ever see.”

“I wouldn't leave it to you if you didn't enjoy it,” Captain Malai said cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder. “That would make me a terrible captain, wouldn't it?”

“Absolutely.” The boatswain’s lip curled. His fingers flexed, and Kestrel's eyes nervously followed their movement around the haft of the boatswain's blood-spattered axe.

 

     On the other ship, the screaming had mostly dwindled into a creaking, oppressive silence. The _Nimble Fingers'_ boarding party had rounded the surviving crew members into a miserable huddle on deck and were, from the looks of it, busily divesting them of their weapons. Or at least, the First Mate and the carpenter were. Alie and Tair were nowhere to be seen.

 

     Soon after, Tair emerged from belowdecks dragging a struggling, hissing woman by the upper arms. She was a lean, predatory creature, wearing a cape nearly as gaudy as Captain Malai's but much worse for wear, and she didn't look much older than Kestrel.

“I believe that’s my cue,” Captain Malai said. “Gangplank, gentlemen?”

“Aye aye, captain,” the quartermaster said, and left to obey.

 

     The caped woman – who Kestrel surmised was probably the other ship’s captain – had her weapons confiscated by the smiling First Mate, and then was unceremoniously herded across to the _Fingers_ in the First Mate’s uncompromising grip. When she saw Captain Malai, she turned her head and spat.

“Sunsnatcher,” she rasped, with the voice of someone who had probably been on the leaf for most of their life.

“Captain Azmiri,” Captain Malai said mildly. “The pleasure’s all mine.” The First Mate placed one hand on Azmiri’s shoulder and then something happened, very quickly, and Azmiri yelped, and then she was on her knees on the deck, snarling. She made as if to rise.

“No, don’t stand.” The boatswain tapped Azmiri’s shoulder with the haft of the axe. Azmiri eyed it, reached a decision about the effort it would take to disagree with the boatswain, and stayed kneeling.

“We both know this wasn’t a courtesy call,” Captain Malai said, folding her arms, “so why don’t you tell us what you were after? First Mate, I’ll leave the good captain’s crew to you. Quartermaster, you have charge of the rest.” The First Mate nodded, and soon she was disappearing into the hold of the other ship, accompanied by the quartermaster. Tair and the carpenter were only visible as a pair of ominous silhouettes on the other ship’s deck.

 

     Azmiri remained stubbornly silent. Kestrel considered the emotional fortitude it took to defy the combined force of Captain Malai and the boatswain, and regarded Captain Azmiri with silent awe.

“So,” Captain Malai said casually, “how long were you trailing us for? Not all the way from Temperance, I hope. That’s a long way to have been playing catchup. I suppose your ship would have had some trouble with that, wouldn’t it?” she added, a tad smugly. Kestrel eyed the other Captain and shifted uneasily. If looks could kill Captain Malai would have been a bloody smear on the deck by now, and he hoped fervently that the First Mate had been very thorough in her weapons search.

 

   But Captain Azmiri said nothing.

“So how many strong was your crew before you decided we’d make an easy mark?” Captain Malai continued idly. “You should have stuck to merchant barques. Unless what you were after was really that valuable – was it, captain?” She cocked her head.

 

     No answer. And then, from the other ship:

“Prisoners in the hold, captain,” the quartermaster called. “Twin kids. Boy and a girl.”

 

     For a moment, a long moment, Captain Malai was silent. When she finally spoke it was a low, jubilant hiss. “ _Twins_.” The sound of her laugh was low and pealing.

“I’ll tell you how it’s going to be, Captain,” she said at length. “In exchange for your generous gift of prisoners, food, and water, my crew will leave the rest of your crew alive. In exchange for whatever shot you have, we’ll also leave you your ship. How does that sound?” The haft of the boatswain’s axe made a thick _smack_ against the palm of his hand.

 

     Captain Azmiri spat. “Like the sort of deal you make, Sunsnatcher. I’ll accept, but only because my quartermaster is dead and he had all the common sense.” She bared her teeth in what Kestrel guessed was meant to be a smile. “The next time we meet you will not be so lucky.”

“You bring your own luck to the table.” Captain Malai smiled. “I’d shake on it, but I don’t trust you not to knife me! Now, Captain, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what you were after.”

“You will take the twins.” Azmiri rolled her eyes. “What can I tell you that the oracle can’t?”

“The oracle only answers one question.” Captain Malai’s smile widened. “But I’m sure you know that! Have we forgotten that your ship is made of all that terribly flammable wood?”

“I do not think you are going to let me forget.” Azmiri’s lip curled. “You know what we were after.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” Captain Malai said lightly.

“The map.” Azmiri bit off the words as though they caused her physical pain. “You must know it was worth trying if you know what that map is for.”

“Well. Of course,” the captain said delicately.

 

     “You don’t.” Azmiri’s voice went from flat and dull to a raw bellow in half a second. “ _You don’t know_.” She surged to her feet, faster than Kestrel’s eyes could track, and before she could even take a step the boatswain had dropped the axe around her shoulders and dragged her back, struggling and wild-eyed, pinning her arms by her sides. Metal flashed in her left hand, and Kestrel shut his eyes instinctively, waiting for the acrid smell of blood to hit the air -

“Let’s _not_ try that again,” Captain Malai said. “Instead, let’s cooperate with one another! It’s been a long night, so let’s make the rest of it fairly painless, and I won’t have to line your crew up and start shooting them one by one. How about that?”

 

   Kestrel cracked one eye open.

 

     Captain Malai had the knife in one hand and her revolver gripped in the other, tucked under Azmiri’s chin. She angled it minutely upwards. Though Azmiri bared her teeth at Captain Malai, the curve of her chin followed accordingly.

“The map is for the heart of a god,” Azmiri said tightly. “It makes wishes come true and whoever owns it will become a legend, Sunsnatcher, so why would you need anything of that sort?” It took effort for Kestrel not to flinch at the bitterness in her voice.

“It’s no fun to quit while you’re ahead.” Captain Malai’s smile was a slash of white in the dim light, sharp as a cutlass. “What god? What sort of wishes? How many?”

“Ask the oracle,” Azmiri growled. “I don’t know.”

“Right.” Captain Malai lowered the revolver, and the iron bands around Kestrel’s gut seemed to loosen just a little, only to constrict again when she called out, “Tair! Pick one and break their neck.” On the deck of the other ship, a towering silhouette detached itself from a spot of deeper shadow and began to stalk across the deck.

“I don’t know!” Azmiri shouted. “It will grant any wish you have, and that is true. But it’s all I know.” She ground her teeth.

 

     The silence stretched immeasurably. Between Azmiri’s dagger-filled glare and Captain Malai’s curious gaze, Kestrel could almost hear the humming tension. When he glanced down his hand was trembling uncontrollably. He had hardly noticed.

“Well, alright then,” Captain Malai said eventually, raising a hand. “Stand down! Take her back to her ship. We’ll take their food, water, and shot – and the twins,” she added absently. “If it takes too long, leave the food. The water and shot’s all we’ll need for now, if we’re heading for the Unmercifuls.”

 

     As far as the crew of the _Fingers_ was concerned, that seemed to be that. Captain Azmiri and the rest of their crew were hounded belowdecks by Tair and the First Mate, both of whom were wearing identical expressions of hellish glee. Kestrel could not help but feel a little sorry for the other crew.

“Were you planning to stand around gawping until the sun comes up, boy, or did you intend to make yourself useful?” the boatswain snapped. Kestrel jumped.

“Oh – er – sir!” He saluted hastily, and regretted it when he saw the boatswain's eyebrows inch fractionally closer together. “If there's anything I, uh, I can do, I'd be happy to help-” Under the boatswain's withering glare, he fell silent. He could feel every drop of cold sweat on his forehead.

“The doctor tells me you can read and write.” There was the faintest hint of a sneer in the way the boatswain said 'doctor'. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” Kestrel said quickly. “In French and Latin and Greek as well, sir. Italian as well, sir, but not so well.”

“At my last examination, the crew of the _Thorns_ weren't a particularly scholarly lot,” the boatswain said, but with less scorn. “If you want to be useful, then come along.”

 

     The _Thorns of Mercy_ was more or less identical to the _Fingers_ , as far as Kestrel could tell: a gundeck, some rooms, crates and barrels of unknown origin and purpose piled all over the ship. The boatswain had acquired an iron crow in addition to his axe, and set about putting both to use on any unidentified containers while Kestrel cowered behind his writing materials.

 

     Deep in the bowels of the ship, they encountered the carpenter, who was gnawing on a length of string and staring at a set of barrels.

“Anything of use?” the boatswain said, tapping the iron crow against his boot. The carpenter grunted and shook her head.

“Not these!” she said. “Captain's orders.”

“As the captain says, then,” the boatswain said flatly, and moved on.

 

     The stocktaking went on until Kestrel could barely keep his eyes open; the marks he was making on the paper became blurred and smudged and he couldn't tell whether it was exhaustion or his own trembling or a combination of the two. Finally, after what seemed like the thousandth poorly-organised room full of miscellaneous stock – how many barrels of preserved beet could one ship eat? - the boatswain shooed them back onto the _Fingers_ , where he bellowed at Captain Malai until she came down from the rigging.

“Good god, Saren, it's too early in the morning for that sort of language,” she yawned, dropping catlike onto the deck with a jingle of jewellery. “So, what have we got?”

 

     While the boatswain gave her his increasingly aggravated report, Kestrel took a helpless look around for any sign of Alie. He hadn't seen her since they had boarded the _Thorns_ , but couldn't help feeling that if something had actually happened to her that Gaelon and Tair would _know_ , somehow, and that somebody would be hearing about it. Probably very quietly, in the darkness behind a locked door deep in the ship, in a room with a handy porthole for getting rid of the mess.

 

     After the captain and the boatswain had reached some sort of agreement, the rest went remarkably quickly. The water, powder and shot of the _Thorns_ vanished rapidly into the hold of the _Fingers_. There was no sign of the mysterious twins. Kestrel guessed they had already been shepherded onboard, and wondered what it meant for someone to be an oracle. Perhaps someone had to be a twin to interpret the oracular vapours?

 

     Soon enough the _Fingers_ was on its way again, the whole crew gathered on the foredeck. He thought, if he squinted upwards, that he could make out a tiny dark shadow in the rigging.

“Right,” Captain Malai said, exhaling. “So! We now know what the map is for, which is to say that we know what Azmiri thinks it's for, and she is madder than a barrel of cats. Still, not to say the map’s not valuable. The _Recidivist_ wanted it, the _Thorns_ wants it – and we have it, which means that anyone else who wants it will be coming after us. And I'm not too keen on valuable treasure ending up in anyone else's hands, as you might have heard.” She grinned. “Nor am I keen on letting someone pick on us for treasure I don't want. So. It's to the oracle with us. Quartermaster! You look like you're about to throw up. Please don't do it on the navvy, that would be terrible. For everyone.”

“The oracle?” the quartermaster said slowly. “Would I be right in thinkin' that this oracle we're plannin' t'visit is our old friend in the Unmercifuls?”

 

     “We've tried all the other channels,” Captain Malai pointed out. “This is a good chance! It may be the only chance we get.”

“All th'same, it's a channel s'probably going to end me up with a new channel in my skull,” Aiden said, sounding resigned.

“I'll make it up to you,” Captain Malai said confidently, clapping him on the shoulder. “Beer that's less than half piss. New boots. A hat! Whatever you want, quartermaster.”

“Y'can't make it up t'me if I'm dead.”

“I could make it up to your corpse! Instead of tossing you to the barracuda we could get you a proper grave, somewhere nice. With a real headstone. And the whole crew could contribute some nice words to put on it.” This drew sniggers.

“Up until that last bit I’d almost have believed you.”

“Might strain the imagination a little, yes,” the captain admitted. “Anyway, I promise we'll be in and out as quickly as we can. We'll leave straight after seeing the oracle.”

“Never works out that way,” the quartermaster mumbled.

 

     Whatever else the captain had to say was lost in the dull roar. Kestrel spun around wildly. Floating some ways off, where the _Thorns_ had been, was a rising column of smoke and debris. The blast of hot air struck them seconds later and Kestrel flinched, covering his face with one arm.

“Whoops!” Captain Malai said brightly, gripping her hat. Under its flapping brim the shadows distorted her grin, made it look strange and wild and inhuman.

“Whoops,” the First Mate agreed serenely.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter for warnings.

The _Fingers_ was on fire. The flames were made of twisted, coloured glass: somewhere he couldn’t see, Tair crashed through a wall of flames, swearing and laughing; the captain tumbled after. A tiny shadow moved, and then she was standing in front of him, handing him her knives.

“They’re after the map,” Alie advised, and then she was gone, and somewhere he could hear the dark sea.

 

     “Kid,” Tair’s voice said, echoing through the corridors. Kestrel tried to turn, but something heavy was holding his arms in place.

“Kid.” The voice was oddly close by, even though he couldn’t see Tair. His arm hurt.

“Wake the fuck up,” Tair said, “if you’ve died we’re throwing your corpse overboard.”

 

     Awareness hit like the wrong side of a sledgehammer. Kestrel flailed madly, and would have tipped out of his hammock if not for Tair’s hand on his arm, holding him firmly still.

“I’m awake!” His voice hit a register he hadn’t heard from his own mouth in many, many years.

“Good,” Tair said, standing up. His bulky frame eclipsed the meagre light from the doorway. “Need your help with something.”

 

     That was enough to jolt Kestrel to fully awake. He stared at Tair despairingly, and decided that whatever Tair needed his help with, it was unlikely that it would involve no blood whatsoever. But Tair was already moving, and so Kestrel buried his face in his arms for a moment before sliding out of his hammock and trailing after.

“I, um,” he said, closing the pantry door behind him. “What, um, what time is it?”

 

     Tair grinned humourlessly. “Bit late for you to be sleeping in.”

“Oh,” Kestrel said weakly. “I – I’m sorry.”

“Not like someone else couldn’t do your job,” Tair snorted, and Kestrel wasn’t sure if that was meant to make him feel better or worse. He hunched in on himself and followed Tair in meek silence.

 

     He wasn’t sure whether it was Tair’s looming presence that made the trip seem so slow, or the fact that they were in a part of the ship he’d never been before. Finally, Tair stopped. The door looked much like every other door he'd seen. Someone had put a tray of food and a jug of water in front of it. When Kestrel had finally mustered enough courage to look up, he saw the bolt on the door.

“Here.” Tair shoved the tray at him. Kestrel only barely managed to take it without dropping it; his hands trembled.  
“W-what do I do with it?” he stammered.

Tair made a frustrated, stifled hiss. “Get the fucking kids to eat it.”

 

     Kestrel blinked.

“They won’t take food from any of the others,” Tair said heavily, “because they look like fucking pirates. I know. You’d never fucking believe it.” The twins, some part of Kestrel's mind supplied, and he wondered why the  _Thorns_  had captured two children in the first place. For ransom, maybe? Or had they also meant to visit the mysterious oracle?

“What about Alie?” Kestrel managed. Tair’s mouth twisted.

“Have you ever talked to the girl?” he said.

“Yes,” Kestrel said slowly. “I - she’s – yes-” He trailed off nervously and wondered if Tair would take any slander of Alie as an excuse to toss him overboard.

“She scares people three times her age,” Tair said, fond and exasperated and proud. “Fucking kids don’t stand a chance. That’s where you come in. Normally Aiden'd do this, but he's-” He shrugged.

“Alright,” Kestrel said nervously. “I’m – I’m not very good with children either, but – I’ll try.”

“I’ll be right here in case one of the little fuckers knifes you,” Tair said casually, and unbolted the door. Kestrel gulped.

 

     The sole source of light within the room was a porthole. High enough that a child couldn’t reach it, but two children, one standing on the other’s shoulders, might have. The two children in the room were, in fact, attempting it.

“Um,” Kestrel said. The top half glanced over her shoulder at him, fixed him with a look that dared him to interfere, and went back to working at the porthole.

“Are you going to stop them?” Kestrel whispered over his shoulder.

“If they can get that fucking thing open,” Tair said, eyeing them, “they deserve to escape.”

“We’re not afraid of you, you know.”

 

     The girl slid awkwardly off her brother’s shoulders and turned to face them. She had long, straggly red-blond hair in a messy braid, and her clothes suggested the sort of wealth Kestrel’s grandmother had always been big on feigning: quality fabrics, a fitting cut, none of it too gaudy or ostentatious. The tilt of the chin suggested that she meant what she said, when faced with both Kestrel – understandable – and Tair – bizarre.

“Why not?” Tair said. “I’m a big scary pirate.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” the girl said, tight and thin. “You’re going to kill us anyway so I don’t see why I have to be scared of you now.”

“You’re going to kill yourselves if you don’t eat,” Tair pointed out.

“Why won’t you eat the food?” Kestrel said. Some small part of him remarked that it was no wonder they were refusing to eat food from Tair.

“We’re not going to eat food you poisoned,” she said, sniffing.

“Be a waste of good poison, kid,” Tair scoffed, and gave Kestrel a little push in the shoulder.

 

     Being that this was Tair, a little push still sent him stumbling a couple of steps forward, but he managed not to spill anything.

“Um. I can promise you it isn’t poisoned,” he tried tentatively, and hoped that he sounded convincing. “Look, I’ll eat some in front of you, and if I don’t fall over dead, will you promise to have some?”

“Why do you _care_?” the girl said, but her stare was aimed at Tair.

“Fattening you up to eat,” Tair said. That shut the girl up for a moment, enough time for Kestrel to quickly add, “I promise you the stew’s alright,” and took a bite.

 

     For a moment he considered that it might actually have been poisoned, and that his body was going to become food for sea serpents, but the fish stew tasted like the same fish stew he’d been eating for the past weeks. Nothing happened. At least not at first.

“See?” he said. “I’m not dead.”

 

     It was the boy who finally moved. He was shaking a little when he picked up the spoon, and he kept darting nervous glances over one shoulder at his sister, but once he’d started eating his attention stayed firmly on the food.

 

     The girl wavered for a moment longer, but from the way her hands were folded over her stomach it looked like she was holding herself back only by force of will.

“If you eat now,” Tair said, “maybe you’ll be able to get the porthole open,” and he didn’t sound mocking.

 

     It didn’t take long after that for the twins to clean their plates. Tair settled in the doorway, neatly blocking it off, and said nothing.

“Where is the ship going?” the girl said finally, dabbing at her mouth with one hand. Table manners that Kestrel’s grandmother would have been proud of. He wondered whether the children had a family who were looking for them; how they’d ended up on the _Thorns_ in the first place.

“Land,” Tair said.

“Where?” she pressed.

“An island,” Tair said, with an infuriating little smile.

“If you take us home,” she said, and it sounded like she’d given this speech before, ten times, maybe a hundred, “our family will pay you a lot. We won’t tell the lawmen you took us, we just want to go home. How much do you want?”

“You’re talking to the wrong person,” Tair said, “I just do the heavy lifting.”

“What about you?” The girl stared at Kestrel. “Do you want money?”

“Oh – I – no, I’d need to talk to the captain,” Kestrel said hurriedly, raising his empty hands.

“We did,” the boy said suddenly, low and quiet. “She laughed at us.”

“Oh,” Kestrel said. “I – where are you from? What’s your-”

“We should go,” Tair said, standing up. Kestrel scraped the plates back onto the tray; the girl looked like she was thinking about keeping hold of the wooden spoon, but eventually she relinquished it.

“We’re from Perseverance,” the girl said, “if you bring us back-”

“Dunno, kid, might be quite a long trip. Might be we’ll have eaten you by then.”

 

     And just like that, Tair bolted the door behind them and stalked off without another word, leaving Kestrel with the tray. He had to jog a little to catch up with Tair’s stride, and trailed him at a safe distance until they were back in a part of the ship he recognized.

 

     He spent the rest of the day scrubbing the remainder of the last night’s fight off the deck, which was almost impossible in some places. The gore had stained the deck so thickly that there was still a thin brown stain in the timbers no matter how hard he scrubbed.

“My poor girl,” the captain said absently, petting the railings. “She must be absolutely raw by now.” But she didn't tell Kestrel to stop.

 

     Later that night Kestrel told Alie, briefly, about the visit to the twins. Alie listened with a little frown, but she said nothing.

“What’s going to happen to them when we reach the island?”

“I don’t know,” Alie said. “I think Aiden knows. So does the captain. But I don’t know if they’ll tell us.”

“Are they going to kill the twins?” Kestrel said, a little more subdued.

“I don’t know,” Alie repeated.

 

     Sleep that night never came. Kestrel lay in his hammock for a long time thinking about the twins, who couldn’t have been older than ten. All his genealogy lessons seemed to have peeled away like the top layers of skin on his hands: which wealthy Perseverance family had twin children? And how had the children of said wealthy family ended up on a pirate ship leaving Temperance?

 

     How had the child of a middle-income landowning family ended up on a pirate ship leaving Temperance? Kestrel thought suddenly. He wondered if his family had realised that he’d never reached school.

 

   Outside, there was a muffled thump. He went still.

 

     The door rattled. Kestrel almost tipped himself out of the hammock in the process of sitting up. Another rattle.

 

     Then the door swung open with so much force that it bounced off the hinges, and two figures practically toppled into the room. Kestrel shaded his eyes in the wash of orange light from the corridor.

“Shit,” Tair’s voice hissed. Kestrel went stock-still. The reply was inaudible, but Kestrel could guess who it belonged to.

 

     Tair slammed the door, and shoved Gaelon against it with a dull sound that Kestrel winced to hear. He could just make out Tair’s silhouette pressed against Gaelon, pinning his body back against the door, and the next thing Kestrel heard was the sound of the lock sliding shut.

 

     His first thought was a fervent wish that he’d noticed the lock earlier. His second thought never came, because he was too busy panicking over the first thought.

“Fuck!” Tair’s voice was very loud in the pantry's small confines; Kestrel’s breath hitched in his throat. He heard a dull thump.

“Should have let those bastards from the _Thorns_ work you over,” Tair panted. “Could have given them some tips, you sick fuck, told them all those bones that never healed right.” His voice dropped to a guttural growl. “Could have told them where they could hit you and you’d like it.”

 

     The next sound was the unmistakeable smack of a hand meeting flesh. Tair grunted.

“And I should have let you die of infection,” Gaelon said, cold as the winter sea. “I should have left you to fester and I would have been thanked for it, you abomination-”

“Fine fucking words, demon doctor of Dignity,” Tair said. “Never heard a single one of the sorry shits we hauled to your sickroom thank you for your mercy, you mad fucker. You’re going to be the death of me like you were the death of them and the last thing you’re going to hear from me is _fuck you_.”

“Your tongue will be the first thing I pull out of you,” Gaelon purred, digging one hand into Tair’s nape, “first to flay it, then to remove it at the root – and then I will feed it to you, piece by piece, and you will eat it like the slavering cur you are.”

“That right, you mincing pillock?” Tair said. “First you’re going to have to get over how fond you are of it though, aren’t you?”

 

     Kestrel could just make out Tair’s silhouette against the door, completely blocking Gaelon from view. There was a soft wet noise, and then another, and then Gaelon snarled, low and guttural, and Tair stumbled back. 

“Fuck,” he said thickly.

“Mongrel,” Gaelon said unsteadily.

“Wanker,” Tair said, with a little click of teeth, and closed in again. This time Gaelon shoved back, and they stumbled into the centre of the storeroom – closer to Kestrel’s hammock, and he wondered with a kind of detached terror whether he should mention that he was here, at all – and then Gaelon sank to his knees, and drew Tair down with him.

 

     For the next few moments the only sound was the rustle of cloth, small clicking sounds, and it abruptly hit Kestrel that they were _undressing_ and he opened his mouth to say something and-

“Who the fuck let you be a doctor?” Tair said, slightly muffled; his mouth was pressed against Gaelon’s chest and Kestrel could just make out Gaelon’s shirt sliding down his shoulders in the rim of orange light from the doorframe. “Who the fuck even let you be a pirate doctor?”

“Not your concern,” Gaelon said sweetly. “Take it up with the ca – _ah_ \- the – “ His voice caught and stuttered. Kestrel’s ears were burning. He couldn’t decipher what Tair was doing. He didn’t particularly want to.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Tair said, at length. Gaelon’s breathing was ragged and throaty. Kestrel couldn’t hear whatever he said next, but it made Tair laugh; an awful, hungry sound.

 

     Gaelon’s back hit the floorboards with a thump that nearly made Kestrel fall out of his hammock, and then Tair was climbing on top of him, and if there was a time to say something it was probably now, _now now now_ , but if he said something then – they would know he was there, and they might ask why he hadn’t said something earlier, or they would think it, and for the rest of his days on this ship whenever one of them spoke to him he was going to remember them naked on the floor of his storeroom and –

 

     Maybe it would be better if he didn’t say anything, he decided, maybe if he just – went through this whole thing, then they would eventually leave, and they wouldn’t know he had ever heard them. Or. Watched them.

 

     And then Tair clamped one hand over Gaelon’s throat, and Kestrel was suddenly wondering if he was going to bear witness to a murder. Gaelon choked; in one quick movement Tair had trapped his wrists and pinned them to the floorboards over his head.

“Quiet,” Tair whispered. The sound still managed to fill the whole room. “Don’t want anyone to hear, do we?” Kestrel shrank and covered his mouth with one hand to keep from making a noise. Gaelon’s body arched upward and Kestrel had begun to shake; how was he going to tell Alie he had sat by and watched Tair murder her – her – well, he wasn’t sure what Gaelon was to Alie, precisely, but he was definitely important.

 

     Tair’s grip loosened, and Gaelon’s few breaths were heavy and shaky before it tightened again.

“Sure it wasn’t you who nearly drowned?” Tair said, leaning in close, close enough that their faces were almost touching. “Or are you thinking of the gibbet? Does it make you hard thinking about being strung up like a fucking haunch of meat in front of all of Perseverance? Well.” His voice pitched lower. “Guess it does.” He let go. Gaelon’s inhalation was painfully loud.

“Just think,” Tair said, lips pressed to Gaelon’s, “if she hadn’t saved your sad hide, what the fuck would you have done?” There was something odd about his tone: wonder and melancholy, something exasperated and desperate and despairing.

“Swung,” he added, and then it was gone.

 

     “Dead,” Gaelon rasped. “Both of us. Dead. Alia too. Dead.” Kestrel jerked a little and, despite himself, listened more intently.

“You don’t know that.” Tair’s fingers trailed along Gaelon’s jaw, into his hair. “She’s a fucking sight more resourceful than you are.”

“Dead,” Gaelon said flatly. “Malnutrition. Or lawmen. Or plague, or fire, or accident. Dead. Better she left.”

“I know,” Tair said softly.

“Better she drowned.” Gaelon’s fingers dug into the curve of Tair’s shoulder. “Better a cutlass through her throat – better she broke her neck in the rigging – “

“Shut up. Shut up, you morbid shit.” Tair gave Gaelon’s hair a tug. At some point it had come free from its braid and it fell loosely around his shoulders and coiled around Tair’s wrist. “We’re both going to fucking outlive you so that I never have to end up in one of your jars.” His hand swept down Gaelon’s face, over his eyes and his mouth, and hovered for a moment over his throat. Gaelon’s indrawn breath could have been pain, or fear. It did not sound like either of those things.

 

     “I could make you beg for it,” Tair said softly. Gaelon’s legs hooked over Tair’s hips, and something – happened, quick and jerky. Tair’s breath hissed out through his teeth.

“And I would return the favour,” Gaelon said breathlessly. “When has your need to gloat ever won out over your need for instant gratification?”

“Maybe I’ll settle for fucking you so hard you can’t remember any words longer than two syllables,” Tair said, and Gaelon laughed softly, shaky and unsteady, and Kestrel was fairly sure he was going to faint.

 

     From Kestrel’s vantage point the next part was crystal clear: Tair pulling off Gaelon’s boots, tossing them aside; Tair pulling off Gaelon’s trousers, reaching into them, then piling them carelessly next to some dried beans. There was a pop. Tair crouching over Gaelon, restraining Gaelon’s wrists with one hand.

 

     Gaelon’s hips jerking upwards, Gaelon making breathless little sounds, louder and breathier by the moment.

 

     For one heartbeat, Tair shifted, and the thin light fell across Gaelon’s body. Kestrel could just make out the shape of him: mouth slack, eyes shut tight – completely nude, thighs splayed, and Tair’s hand between them, _moving_ \- Kestrel squeaked.

 

   He clapped his hands over his mouth a heartbeat after and turned away, almost nauseous with horror; long seconds passed, punctuated by Gaelon’s whimpering. Maybe they hadn’t heard him. Maybe. He had just begun to relax when Gaelon croaked, “Tair?”

 

     “Precious?” Tair said mockingly, in a terrible falsetto. “Sweetheart? Dear thing?” Gaelon’s back arched off the floor, his nails scrabbling against the bare wood; the noise he made was low and breathless and ugly.

“I – _uh_ – I - “

“Go on.”

“S – ss – _stop_.” Gaelon’s spine unbent and he dropped back to the floor, gasping softly.

“Gaelon?” Tair said warily. His grip eased around Gaelon’s wrists.

“That sound – ” Gaelon said hoarsely.

“Yeah, that was my voice breaking, you fucking cradle-robber.” Kestrel could hear the grin, could almost see it if Tair tilted his head just a little. “No, we’ve got an audience. Turns out we stash the cabin boy in here when he's not scrubbing decks.”

“Ah,” Gaelon sighed, and visibly relaxed. And then: “ _Ah_ -” Tair laughed roughly and leaned down. Kestrel swallowed, and tried to look away from Tair’s long tongue, sliding over the drawn-taut muscles of Gaelon's neck.

“Nn. I. We should move,” Gaelon panted, at length. Kestrel was not sure he could move. He was not sure he remembered how to.

“Sure,” Tair drawled. “You first.” Whatever he did next, it made Gaelon’s head snap to one side; he flinched and shivered, his arms cording with the tension of straining against Tair’s grip.

 

     “Still want to move?” Tair prompted, as Gaelon’s head tipped back, exposing the ridges of his throat. Gaelon moaned.

“I, um,” Kestrel finally managed to stammer out, “i-it’s alright, you shouldn’t bother yourselves – I – I’ll move – “

“Sure, kid?” Tair said. “I mean, it’s your closet, after all.” Underneath him, Gaelon twisted and choked on his own hoarse breaths.

“Y-yes, don’t worry about it!” Kestrel had to will himself not to trip over them on his way out; his hands shook on the lock with a horrible telling rattle. Tair laughed.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, and Kestrel honestly could not tell whether or not it was sincere. “I owe you one.”

 

     The last things he saw before he shut the door behind him were Gaelon’s legs twining around Tair’s back, Gaelon’s pale hand fisting in Tair’s hair. Tair’s hips moved. The sound Gaelon made was only barely human.   


     The next morning, he started awake to rattling metal and someone whistling a cheerful tune. Kestrel unfolded stiffly from his uncomfortable position between a crate of hardtack and some stacked barrels of spice.

“Good morning,” the First Mate sang. Kestrel considered pretending to be asleep before realising that nothing short of dying was going to make the First Mate stop paying attention to him, and he didn't quite want to put the idea into her head.

“Good morning,” he said, muffling a yawn. “I – um – am I in the way?”

“Oh, no,” she said, “you wouldn't have been. I promise. Did you want breakfast?”

 

     “That would be nice,” he said hesitantly. The First Mate's smile was more effective than a bucket of cold water, as wake-up methods went.

 

     Despite having to sit within reach of the First Mate and her sharp knife, Kestrel managed to finish breakfast. Keeping it down was a different matter, and became a little more difficult once Tair ducked into the galley. His neck and shoulders were covered in bruises. Teeth-shaped bruises, if Kestrel was going to think about it, and he definitely wasn't.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Tair drawled, draping himself over the First Mate.

“Good morning, hero!” She patted his cheek. “Slept well?” Tair's low laugh nearly sent Kestrel toppling out of his chair.

“Like the dead,” Tair said, slinging an arm around her waist.

“Oh, I hope not. That seems awfully cold. And lonely.” She pulled a tray over and piled it with stew and hardtack: three portions each. Tair gave Kestrel a sidelong glance from behind the First Mate's curls.

 

     “What about you, kid?” Tair grinned. “Sleep well?”

“Um,” Kestrel said.

“You were tossing and turning.” The First Mate frowned. “Were you having bad dreams? Did something happen?”

 

     Kestrel's terrified gaze stayed firmly riveted on Tair, whose grin widened until the top of his head threatened to fall off.

“You can sort it out later,” Tair said, letting her go. “Right now kid and I have something to do.”

“Oh! Don't let me keep you, then.” The First Mate smiled. “You're a busy man, hero. Soon you won't have time for me,” she said, heaving a sigh, which prompted Tair's attention to her very loose collar.

“Lady of your charms,” Tair said, giving her a kiss on the forehead, “how could I refuse you?” The First Mate laughed, and Tair left. Kestrel slid off his chair without any further comment and resignedly trailed after.

 

     Only to run almost facefirst into the physician, who was hovering just outside the galley. Kestrel backed hastily away, stammering apologies, but shut up the moment he realised that Gaelon was looking at him. Tair, on the other hand, stared at the physician as though he'd never seen the man before.

“I was looking for you,” Gaelon said. Kestrel wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust out of sheer terror.

“Matter of fact,” Tair said, eyes fixed on Gaelon, “I needed the kid's help with something important.”

“So did I,” Gaelon said. His fingers traced absent figure eights over the spectacular marks on his wrists. Tair's gaze flicked to that small movement, then to Gaelon's choker of bruises, before finally settling on Gaelon's face.

“Won't take a moment,” Tair said, grinning, but it seemed forced. “Don't be selfish, you fuck.”

“They would trust you more if you were forthright in your dealings with them.” Gaelon's tone was soft. “Then again, perhaps that is for the better. As is they already trust you too much.”

 

     Tair inhaled; a harsh, wet sound. The look on his face made Kestrel flinch.

“They are the captain's prisoners, not a pair of strays needing a new home,” Gaelon said. “Perhaps when the time comes they will hate you for giving them hope.”

“You think I should let them rot,” Tair said flatly.

“I think you should let them go.” Gaelon traced his wrist again, and Tair seemed to pull back. “It is not wise to lie to children.”

“I'm feeding them stew, not drivel.” Tair laughed. It sounded as though he was being strangled. “Fine. You keep the kid, since you know so much about caring for children.” Kestrel flinched when the door slammed, but Gaelon didn't move, didn't even seem to be breathing. It was an awkward eternity before he finally turned to Kestrel.

 

     “Our ecclesiastical friend has informed me that you are literate in Greek,” Gaelon said, with a faint, humourless smile. Kestrel wasn't sure whether it was directed at him.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good,” Gaelon said, “I would hate to have lied to him because of something _Saren_ said.” He turned on his heel. Kestrel scrambled to follow.

 

     To Kestrel's cautious relief, Tair stopped asking him to help with the twins. He was careful to stay out of Tair's way, but his success probably had less to do with his own efforts and plenty to do with Tair's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: choking, consensual violence in a sexual situation, very morbid and violent dirty talk.


	8. Chapter 8

     The oracle's island was a pale, twisted spire of bleached rock. They laid anchor near a cluster of buildings which stood half on the blindingly white beach and half upon stilts in the water; dark lines of barnacles marked high tide. Forbidding tangles of mangroves flanked either end of the settlement. Their aerial roots jutted from the waterline like spikes on the ramparts of some flooded city. Not far away, an estuary emptied lazily into the ocean, sending plumes of brown water into the green sea.

 

     A lifeboat containing the captain and the First Mate was lowered. A small huddle of islanders was waiting to receive them at one of the floating platforms surrounding the village. There was some bowing involved, and a small exchange of gifts, and then the party from the _Nimble Fingers_ was led into a pavilion under the shade of a spreading, broad-leaved tree.

 

     They were not gone for long.

“At least this time we didn’t have to threaten any arson whatsoever.” If anything Captain Malai sounded vaguely disappointed with this, as she clambered back on board. “Quartermaster! You’re with me. Get Tair, Kanil, the sawbones, and – ” Her eyes landed on Kestrel, crouched on deck with a brush in one hand. “Oh, you’re here. Good work, seagull!”

“M-me?” Kestrel stammered.

“Yes! You,” the captain said, clapping him on the back so hard that his heart almost shot out of his mouth.

“Me?” the quartermaster said, in more or less the same tone. “Th’heat’s not gettin’ t’you, is it, captain?”

“The old governor’s dead, quartermaster, I’m sure nobody remembers your face,” she said airily. “If you’re so worried put a hood on! If anyone asks we’ll just tell them you’re a leper,” she said over his mumbling protests.

 

     Which was how Kestrel found himself filing down the gangplank in the company of the captain, the physician, and Tair. He glanced back over his shoulder. Alie was standing at the railing: she gave him a cursory wave, a _tick-tock_ motion of her wrist, and draped her hands off the edge. It came up to her chest.

 

     Kestrel thought about waving back, then cast a nervous glance at Gaelon – directly in front of him – and didn’t dare look at Tair – directly behind him. He gave her a watery smile and hoped she could see it from this distance. Half a second later, he nearly swallowed his tongue when one of Tair’s enormous hands landed solidly on his shoulder.

“Not sure if you noticed,” Tair said, “but someone waved to you. Aren’t you going to wave back?” His tone suggested it would be a very bad idea to disagree. Kestrel swallowed and waved hastily at Alie, who buried her face in her hands.

 

     The islanders were tall and bulky, sallow-skinned, and nearly all of them had the same startlingly pale blond hair as the quartermaster. None of them spoke as the pirates proceeded through their village, though they all turned to watch. The way they moved suggested that some of them had not moved in a very long time; that some of them had forgotten how to.

“What’s going on?” Tair said, breaking line to walk with the captain. Kestrel heaved a shaky sigh of relief.

“We’re going to settle their pest problem!” Captain Malai said gleefully.

“Oh,” Kanil said.

“Don’t sound so excited, sailing master,” the captain said. “All you have to do is the intelligence, and we’ll leave the dirty work up to this one!” She punched Tair in the upper arm. She had to reach up quite a way to manage it.

 

     “Dirty work.” Tair snorted. “Coming from you, captain, could be anything.” She waggled her eyebrows at him before bursting into a cackle. In the meantime, Kanil leaned into Gaelon and whispered something into his ear. Gaelon nodded, briefly, before gripping Kanil’s wrist and whispering back. Their faces were very close and their hold very tight and Kestrel looked away, heat creeping up his ears. He’d thought he would be used to witnessing that sort of intimate affection, especially after witnessing – _oh no he wasn’t going to think about that no no no_ – he covered his face with his hands and thought, very fervently, about the proper care of magnolias.

 

     An eternity later, they had arrived at the estuary. One of the islanders was waiting for them.

“In there,” he said, pointing. He spoke haltingly, but very precisely, as though he was trying to make sure all the words sounded right.

“What happened?” Kanil said. He was still half-hiding behind Gaelon as though the physician could protect him from the whole island. Looking at the dead cold in Gaelon’s eyes, Kestrel could almost believe it.

“Seven people. Dead,” the islander said. “They were bitten. They fought, but it took them away.”

“And they want us to kill it!” Captain Malai said gleefully.

“Get rid of it,” the islander said, sounding pained.

“That’s what I said,” Captain Malai said, pumping one fist. “Kanil!”

 

     Slowly, Kanil stepped forward. He wobbled for a moment, just a moment, and Tair’s shoulders went tense like he was preparing to lunge forward and snatch Kanil off his feet, but Gaelon’s fingers clamped around Tair’s wrist and Kanil stood straight. Tair wrenched his hand out of Gaelon’s grip with a silent snarl. Gaelon’s expression didn’t change.

“I need a shallow dish,” Kanil said distantly. The islander turned, and suddenly there was another islander standing beside him, and the two had a whispered conversation and when Kestrel blinked again the second islander was gone.

 

     She reappeared with a wooden bowl, about a handspan deep and the length of Kanil’s forearm. He took it gingerly.

“It’s very beautiful,” he said, smiling. “Thank you. I won’t need it for long.” He made his way slowly down to the bank of the estuary, where he filled the dish with water. Gaelon took it from him, and they both knelt facing one another a safe distance from the bank – Kanil took a deep breath, swept his hair back out of his face, and then plunged his face into the water.

 

     Strangely, there was no splash.

  
   Kanil stayed with his face submerged for a horribly long time, longer than any human should have been capable of, and after what seemed like an eternity Kestrel glanced frantically to either side of him but no one, not Tair nor the hooded quartermaster nor the captain with her sharp, sharp smile seemed to be making a move. Even Gaelon didn’t seem concerned, and Kestrel conceded uneasily that if the ship’s physician wasn’t worried then it was probably alright.

 

     It came as a total shock when Kanil reared back, splattering water across the beach and Gaelon’s front.

“Sh – sh – _shark._ ” Kanil’s teeth were chattering. “It – it – oh god, that woman’s leg – oh god.” He folded gently in onto himself, gasping. “T-twelve feet long. Old. Female. I – it killed a crocodile twelve miles upriver-” He sucked in a breath. “She’s big. She's very big.”

“Can you call it?” Captain Malai said. Kanil shuddered.

“I can.” His voice was tiny. “Are – are you sure you want me to?”

 

     Instead of replying, Captain Malai turned to Tair.

“Shark,” she told him.

“I heard.” Tair's voice was non-committal.

“What are you going to do about it?” She raised one eyebrow.

“What are you going to make me do about it, Your Excellency?”

 

     The captain appeared to think about that for a moment. It was not a particularly long moment.

“Get in there,” she said decisively, “and hit it with your fists.”

 

     Tair grinned, wild and evil and all too sharklike himself, and Kestrel abruptly decided that despite all common sense and reason he wasn’t going to bet on the shark.

“Are y'sure this is a good idea?” the quartermaster said, sounding sort of resigned, as though he already knew the answer.

“It’s our honoured captain's idea,” Tair snorted, cracking his knuckles, “when are those ever good?”

“Tair, she's enormous.” Kanil's voice cracked and wavered. “She's vicious and – and fierce, and she's not afraid of anything.” Gaelon busied himself tipping the water out of the dish and wiping it clean.

“Never too late for anyone to learn.” Tair’s grin widened.

“Y'can say that again,” Aiden said.

“You're so supportive, sweetheart.” Tair tossed his boots into the sand, one on top of the other. “I don't know what I'd do without all your praise and concern.” He looked over to Kanil. “Alright?”

“Are you sure?” Kanil said plaintively. For the briefest moment, he was looking at Gaelon.

 

     Tair grinned.

“No,” he said, “but what the hell.”

 

     Kanil's voice cracked. “I don't want you to get hurt-”

“I'm a pirate,” Tair said, not unkindly. Captain Malai cackled. That seemed to prompt Kanil, stumbling, to his feet; he took a deep breath and made his way unsteadily to the bank, where he sank back to his knees. His hands shook when he lowered them into the water.

 

     Kanil shuddered. His head tipped back until he was staring almost directly at the sun, the estuary lapping at the hems of his sleeves.

“She's hungry,” he said, half to himself. “She just ate upriver, but it wasn't enough. Oh-” He made as if to stand up, but seemed to keep himself in place by force of will. “She's been patrolling this bank. She won't be long.”

“Are you not armed?”

 

     Kestrel nearly jumped. The villager had been almost invisible in the shadow of the trees; now he stepped forward, carrying a stick the length of his arm. It was three fingers wide, made of honey-yellow wood and carved with a strange curling script. One end was sharpened to a hand-long point.

“Take this,” the villager said, pushing it at Tair. Tair eyed it.

“Take it,” the villager repeated, more insistently. “We use this to bless a kill.”

“Right,” Tair said slowly, hefting it. He gave it an experimental thrust. “It won't break?”

“This is heartwood,” the villager said. “Heartwood does not break.”

“She's here,” Kanil whispered, and drew his hands out of the water. When he got to his feet Gaelon had to catch him.

 

     Tair made his way unhurriedly to the waterline.

“Tair-” Kanil started, soft and choked, but cut himself off with a little shake of his head. If Tair had heard he showed no sign: he waded in to his waist, heartwood held loosely in one hand. After a moment, Kanil slipped his hand into Gaelon’s.

 

     For a few moments Tair was stock-still in the water, hands held just above the surface, taut as a tether in strong wind. The estuary was deathly silent. When a distant birdcall finally broke the funereal pall, Kestrel nearly leapt out of his skin.

 

     “You sure you called loud enough?” Tair said, tilting his head over one shoulder. Kanil let out a shaky little laugh –

 

     - and then Tair vanished under the water, and the last thing Kestrel saw was Tair’s arm, thrashing madly.

 

    If the silence had been awful before now it was appalling, like a lead sheet had landed over the entire estuary. Captain Malai’s hands balled into fists by her sides, but she didn’t say a word.

 

     Kestrel began to count under his breath, unsteadily, and he wasn’t even certain if he was counting in the right increments, but if he was counting he wasn’t thinking about Tair as so much bloodied meat – forty-six – Alie’s blank face, crumbling into horror – fifty, fifty-one! Who was going to feed the twins in Tair’s place? No, he wasn’t dead yet, surely they would have seen a body – _they fought, but it took them away_ , the islander echoed in his head. No. Sixty. Sixty-one – could anyone hold their breath that long?

“It took him away,” the islander said gloomily. Kestrel didn’t dare breathe.

 

     “No!” Kanil burst out, dissolving into messy sobs, “no, no, no-” He kept repeating it, as though Tair would magically resurface if he said the word enough times. He whirled around to bury his face in Gaelon’s front, and continued crying, shoulders shaking softly. The physician and the captain flanked him like a pair of grim-faced statues.

 

     Out in the centre of the estuary, the water was slowly turning cloudy red.

 

     A thrashing tail broke the surface, churning the water white, and Kestrel glimpsed a vast expanse of mottled grey skin before Tair's knife scored it with a long crimson line and the two vanished once more. Kestrel’s breath escaped in a high-pitched whine.

“ _Yes_!” Captain Malai crowed. “ _You show her what for_!”

“Guess I ain’t gettin' his boots,” the quartermaster said, but it sounded painfully relieved.

“I promise we’ll get you new ones when we make port.” The Captain let out a giddy laugh. “ _Kick her in the teeth_!”

“’m thinkin’ her teeth would win,” the quartermaster said, and they both burst into breathless laughter.

“Oh,” Kanil breathed. “Oh, I am glad.” Gaelon said nothing.

 

   Tair rose from the estuary like a nightmare. Water poured from him in frothy gouts, muddy and pink in turns. He limped up the beach with blood leaking sluggishly from a terrific wound in his thigh and more scrapes than Kestrel could count across his forearms and chest and shoulders. By some miracle the shark’s teeth had missed his throat.

 

     Behind him he was dragging the shark, his fingers hooked firmly into its gills.

 

     The heartwood had been rammed through the roof of its mouth and jutted from the top of its skull. Pink-stained splinters protruded from either side of the exit wound. Its right eye was a bloody, pulpy mess. Kestrel swallowed and took two steps back.

 

     Tair dropped the shark's body on the beach. It hit the sand with a wet noise, then tipped onto its belly and lay still.

“Got her,” he rasped, rubbing his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra doodle [here](http://exoscopy.tumblr.com/post/139483709060/context).
> 
> If there's any proofing errors or you have any questions please let me know. I like knowing what works and what doesn't. You can comment here or drop an ask in my [tumblr askbox.](http://exoscopy.tumblr.com/submit)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warnings.

     Within minutes almost the entire island had turned up to gawk at the shark. Captain Malai stood pointedly next to it, smiling sharply at anyone who ventured too close. A few of the village girls – attractive in the strange, ethereal way of the islanders – had fetched a mat for Tair and were fussing over him. As Kestrel watched, Tair leaned in close to one of them and whispered something that made her gasp. The other girls crowded closer.

 

     Gaelon had vanished with a jittery, frightened Kanil in tow. The quartermaster skulked in the shadow of a tree, almost invisible; the first time he moved Kestrel had nearly leapt out of his skin. Now he was huddled in the shadow of the same tree, because the alternatives were Tair or the captain, and neither seemed as reassuring a prospect as the quartermaster, who seemed determined to stay out of everyone’s way. That was a mission Kestrel could wholeheartedly embrace.

 

     Except that it was becoming painfully awkward standing in the same shade as the quartermaster in complete silence.

“Um,” he started. The quartermaster’s hood turned slightly towards him. Kestrel flailed awkwardly for something to say that wasn’t, ‘so you’re a wanted fugitive?’

“You alright, lad?” the quartermaster said eventually, while Kestrel was working himself into a panic.

“Um. Yes! I’m fine,” he burst out. “Are you – um – how are you?” He clapped his hands over his mouth the moment he’d said it.

“’m alright.” The quartermaster sounded amused. “Well, as right as it gets, anyway. Ain’t a bad place,” he said carefully, “once y’get past some things about the atmosphere.” He coughed. “Anyway, how’re you holding up, lad? Haven’t had much chance t’talk t’you. How’s th’pirate life treating you?”

 

     This was not a conversation Kestrel had ever expected to be happening.

“Um, it’s alright. You’re – I mean, apart from the murders - you’re not – um, well, I suppose the murders are a large part of being a pirate, but – uh – it’s not terrible,” he said weakly. “I suppose.”

“Well, it’s a living,” the quartermaster said comfortably. “Not like most of us would’ve done anything else, t’be frank. Captain’s been smugglin’ since she was yay big-” he gestured vaguely at a spot roughly the height of Kestrel’s waist. “-ain’t many lawful places where th’First Mate’s not wanted for coercion or blackmail or beatin’ people til their teeth come out, and, well-” He jerked his head at Tair. “That one’ll make a good retirement plan for any lawful sort that manages t’shoot him.”

“What about Alie?” Kestrel said cautiously.

“Pirating’s all the kid knows,” the quartermaster said. “Mind you, she’d probably pick up quick on anything else, she’s a smart lass. But ain’t like she’d want to. What about you? D’you have anything t’go back to?” The quartermaster’s hand emerged for long enough to nudge him gently.

“N-not really.” Kestrel swallowed. “I’ve got too many brothers and sisters, and I’m not – I’m not really good at anything. I’d probably just have been married once I left school. If I was lucky, I suppose.”

“That’s alright, lad,” the quartermaster said kindly. “’m sure you’re tryin’ th’best y’can. There’s probably things you are good at, y’just haven’t grown into it yet.”

 

     They lapsed into silence, and the quartermaster pretended not to notice when Kestrel mopped at his eyes with the hem of his sleeve.

“Oh, looks like th’sawbones is back,” the quartermaster said, after a moment. Gaelon was striding up the beach, bag in hand. Kanil was nowhere to be seen.

 

     He arrived in the shade of their tree and placed the bag carefully in the sand before giving them both a nod.

“Kanil is back on the ship,” he said, with a small shrug.

“He alright?” the quartermaster said.

“Ever since Temperance he has not been fond of crowds,” Gaelon said. “How are you faring?”

“S’like a dry oven under here,” the quartermaster said resignedly. “But it’ll be a real oven if it comes off, so I ain’t complaining. Aren’t y’going t’patch Tair up?”

“He appears to be enjoying himself.” Gaelon shrugged again. “All in due time.” They glanced over to where Tair was telling what looked like an absolutely filthy story to his rapt audience. Most of them were draped across his long limbs or clutching on to him as though he would float off the moment they let go. One of them was filling his cup.

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” the quartermaster said. “I told th’thick bastard not t’drink anything, shit, shit-” He waved frantically at Captain Malai, but she was busy bellowing at an islander who she had her arm around.

“Is something the matter?” Gaelon shifted forward.

“Get him away from that drink and then get him away from th’village,” Aiden said urgently. “ Lad, you get the captain, she’ll know how t’yell at them and the poor bastard she’s hanging off’f will probably thank you for it.”

 

     “Separating Tair from drink and women,” Gaelon said, half to himself, picking his bag up. “No, nothing could be simpler.” That said, he started off at a clipped stride. Kestrel ran for the captain.

 

     “-medicine or not, it’s _our_ shark, and we never agreed to – seagull! Seagull, you speak Greek, I need you to explain to this gentleman that we are not giving anybody the shark-”

“Um, I read and write in Greek, I’m, um, I’m not much for speaking,” he said hurriedly, waving his hands frantically. “Captain, can I – uh - permission to have a word in private?”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows crept up her forehead. “Of course! We’ll discuss this later,” she said threateningly, jabbing the islander in the chest, and took Kestrel a small ways up the beach.

“They’re – Tair’s drinking something he’s not meant to and the, the quartermaster said I should fetch you,” Kestrel said breathlessly.

“Oh, _damn_ ,” Captain Malai said, and whirled around.

 

     Gaelon had somehow dispersed Tair’s gaggle of admirers to a spot further up the beach, where they were whispering to one another and pointing. One of them was still clutching a jug. Gaelon, in the meantime, was standing over Tair, saying something that made Tair’s expression thunderous. He was on his feet quicker than a heartbeat; his hands closed into the front of Gaelon’s battered coat and pulled him close enough that they were almost nose to nose, snarling something in low tones. How was he able to stand on that leg?

 

     The captain, in the meantime, was storming up to the group of girls, and she snatched the jug out of one girl’s hands and gave it a deep sniff. They started back from her like a flock of frightened birds. The captain ignored them.

 

     Kestrel was abruptly aware of how silent the beach was. The waves hissed, once, and then faded into apologetic silence.

 

     Then Tair’s leg buckled under him, and the two of them collapsed in a tangle of limbs: Tair let out a short, rough noise before heaving himself off Gaelon, but his arm seemed to be shaking.

“Stitch him up,” the captain said, putting the jug on the sand. She wasn’t shouting, but it carried. “He’s not going to argue with you any more.” That said, she came a little closer to them, and her hand came to rest on the handle of her pistol in a bare and utter threat.

 

     “Bring him to our village,” one of the islanders said suddenly, detaching herself from the rest of the crowd. It was hard to tell how old any of them were, Kestrel thought, but this one carried her age like a crown. From the way the others made room for her, she might as well have been wearing one. “We can treat him.”

“Thank you,” Captain Malai said. Kestrel half-turned to keep her in sight, and her fingers were drumming a steady pattern on her pistol. “But no thank you.”

“He has done us an honour,” the islander insisted. “He must come to the village, so we can celebrate him and treat his wounds. He is a hero-”

“Begging your pardon, but he's not!” Captain Malai's tone was mild and friendly. “He's a common murderer, and he only managed to kill your shark because he's a filthy cheater who tastes terrible. No offence.” The last part was directed at Tair, who didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were white-rimmed.

“But he is a hero,” the islander said, glancing at Tair. “We must-”

“He's a _pirate_ ,” Captain Malai said. “I think that tells you something about his character. He's a dishonourable, lying, good-for-nothing. He's a bastard and a laggard and a knave. He is about the farthest thing from a hero you could get, and he's cursed with ill luck.”

“I – I will consult with the village.” The islander turned with stiff grace and vanished into the crowd.

 

     “That was impolitic,” Gaelon murmured, dabbing at the scrapes on Tair’s chest with an increasingly bloody cloth.

“Do you know what they do to heroes? Outsiders especially?” Captain Malai leaned down and traced a line across Tair's neck with one nail, from ear to ear. Tair gasped, low and choked, and tried to twist away from her touch.

“Sorry!” she said to him. “I'm sure you'll agree I was right about everything, though. It's their gods.” She looked up, forcing Gaelon to dodge feathers. “Old gods. You know how they are. Vicious, rapacious, demanding things.”

“Something like pirates,” Gaelon said. The captain laughed.

“Something like that! So I want him away from their village, and guarded in case they try anything. I doubt they will, but it never hurts to be cautious with this lot. Alie and Saren, I think. They don't like axes,” she added in a lower tone. “Ah, there's Naishi. First Mate! What took you so long?”

“Oh,” the First Mate said, fluffing her hair. Coins fell out of the depths of her sleeves; the First Mate swept them back up before Kestrel had a chance to blink. “Sightseeing.” She smiled.

“Plenty of that on the way back!” The captain got to her feet. “Take this one back to the ship-” She smacked Tair in the arm, making him flinch- “and make sure nobody else boards. We might not be back until nightfall.”

“He has two broken ribs,” Gaelon added, as though he was talking about the weather. “Try not to puncture his lungs.”

 

     “Done,” the First Mate said with a benign little smile. She gripped one of Tair's arms and hauled him to his feet with no apparent effort. Kestrel eyed them and carefully reaffirmed his decision to never get on the First Mate's bad side.

“Do you want me to discourage any unwanted visitors firmly?” she said sweetly. “Or very firmly?”

“First Mate, I leave it to your thoroughly reasonable judgement,” Captain Malai said. The First Mate beamed at them, then at Tair, who was shaking a little.

“Come on, hero-”

“None of that here!” the captain said exasperatedly. “I just dissuaded them. Don't start them on it all over again. Get him back to the ship and don't let him out under any circumstances. Oh, and – send the cargo down.”

“Captain,” the First Mate sang, saluting with her free hand. They made an awkward silhouette, but a strangely comfortable one, with the First Mate whispering to Tair’s lolling head as she made their way across the sand.

 

     The captain nodded, which brought the quartermaster and the physician to her sides, and Kestrel hesitated before shuffling closer.

“Are we going to have a guide?” the captain said to the remaining islanders, with a benign little smile. “Or are we going to have to make our own way?” The gleam in her eye dared them to suggest the latter. The remaining islanders fell into a hushed conversation – it didn’t sound like Greek, for all its rolling cadences and strong vowels – before one of them was pushed forward.

“I will take you,” he said, sounding resigned.

“We’re delighted,” Captain Malai said, her smile widening. As if they’d all been waiting for this, the rest dispersed. Kestrel blinked. One moment they’d been in the middle of a crowd; now it was only the five of them on the beach.

 

     From then it was a long, silent wait, until the First Mate showed up with the twins in tow. Kestrel couldn’t help starting guiltily when the girl fixed him with her accusing glare. The First Mate hadn’t roped them together; instead she was guiding them along with a hand on each of their shoulders and her radiant smile firmly in place, which might explain why neither had run away yet.

“Go on,” she said, giving them both a gentle push. “Talk to the captain. He’s settled in the sickroom.” There was something knowing in her gaze, something that made Kestrel’s gut knot in on itself.

“Are you talking about Tair?” the boy burst out. Kestrel’s heart tightened uncomfortably in his chest.

“Yes,” the captain said. “He’s been hurt.”

“He was trying to protect-” the First Mate started, leaning down, but the captain cut her off with, “First Mate! Silence and attention, please!”

“Protect who?” the girl said flatly, but Kestrel could see the spark of fear and hope in her eyes and it was almost physically painful. He shrank behind the physician and tried not to meet her fierce, expectant stare.

 

     The girl nibbled on her finger.

“I,” she said, the syllable drawn out as if on tenterhooks, “is there any way we can help him?”

“You kids? No,” the captain snorted.

“Wait, captain,” the First Mate said, “maybe they can-?”

“They’re kids, First Mate, absolutely not,” the captain said, with uncharacteristic snap, and Kestrel suddenly felt the chasm of understanding open up beneath him and swallow him whole. He couldn’t take his eyes off the back-and-forth between the two women. Rapt terror kept him silent. In the meantime, the girl had set her jaw and was tilting it up, fixing Captain Malai with a stare that would otherwise have silenced an entire dining hall.

“What are you going to do with us otherwise?” If she was any older it would have been an outright challenge. As it was it had the edge of childish resentment, but there was a real, impressive anger under there. Kestrel tore his eyes away for long enough to notice Gaelon staring at the twins, eyebrows inching together in a faint frown.

 

     “What makes you think you could do anything for him that we can’t?”

“I’m not stupid,” the girl said. “You’ve brought us to this island. You need us to do something here, or you’d never have let us off the ship.” She sucked in a breath. “He’s been kind to us. I want to do something for him.” The inside of Kestrel’s chest was like a vacuum flask, like the slow thrashing of prey in a Venus flytrap, like the furnace at the earth’s core. He wanted to cry.

“No,” Captain Malai said. “You don’t. He’s a pirate!”

“We’re prisoners.” The girl’s mouth tightened. “It didn’t stop him.” He wanted to tell them to stop being heroic, he wanted to tell them it had been the captain’s orders, but nothing he wanted was coming out of his mouth.

 

     “They could try,” the First Mate said, with an artless shrug. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“You think you can do something for him?” the captain said, finally. “Fine. Drink this.” And then she had the jug in one hand, and she was offering it to the girl.

 

     The image of Tair, eyes white-rimmed, trembling and gasping in Gaelon’s lap, rose unbidden in Kestrel’s memory. Don’t, he wanted to say-

“He is not worth it,” Gaelon said, winter-calm and cold. And the girl’s eyes met Gaelon’s, for one pure, burning second, and she drank.

 

     When she lowered the jug her hands were shaking, but she gave her brother the jug and meticulously wiped her mouth with the hem of her jacket. Her eyes were going too bright, too bleary.

 

     Once they had both drunk, once they both had the same, hazy look – strange to see it on those similar faces, Kestrel thought sadly, with the same nose and the same jawline and now the same drugged eyes – the captain nodded.

“We’ll take them from here,” she said to the First Mate, who gave her the brightest, most brilliant smile, as though she hadn’t just helped trick two children into a pointless sacrifice, and bobbed a curtsey before setting off back to the ship.

 

     One limp little body went on the quartermaster’s back. The other went on the physician’s, who deposited his bag in Kestrel’s arms with a brief warning of, “Do not drop it,” before picking up the girl. Her arms dangled loosely down his bloodied shirtfront, and Kestrel wondered dully if it would be any bloodier by the day’s end.

 

     Their party made their way down the beach in silence, led by the lone islander. The oracle, Kestrel couldn’t help thinking numbly. They were going to the oracle. He shot a look over his shoulder. Seeing the small head lolling on the quartermaster’s shoulder was like being repeatedly knifed in the gut.

 

     The guide brought them down the beach until the sand receded into scrubby jungle, and then further along a narrow path that brought them next to a truly staggering set of cliffs. Kestrel had half a mind to drop the bag and all its murderous sharpness down the drop. But their path led away, back into the jungle, back down the sheer slopes – until finally, they reached a cave, its entrance half-hidden by the spreading leaves of a flowering bromeliad.

“The oracle waits,” the guide said.

“Thank you,” the captain said brightly, cracking her knuckles. “Don’t let us keep you!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out, improbably, an oil lamp. Further rummaging ensued. This also unearthed a stack of paper and some charcoal, which she shoved at Kestrel with an exclamation of, “You might need these, so hold on to them!”

“I – “ Kestrel said numbly, and gave up. He tucked them into his trouser pocket and shifted the bag to his other hand; its handle had worn a painful red groove into his palm.

 

     She lit the oil lamp, and they entered.

 

     A broad set of stairs sloped down into the depths of the island. The walls pulsed with an eerie, faint blue glow. Kestrel furtively crept closer to take a look – it was some sort of glowing lichen he’d never seen before. He wondered if the Botanical Gardens had a sample in their archives. What if he just took-?

“It’s poisonous, lad,” the quartermaster said, shifting the boy’s weight. Kestrel yanked his hand back and continued hastily after them. The captain laughed.

 

     The stairwell ended in a small, enclosed room. Carvings made from the same pale wood as the shark-killing spear – heartwood? – hung all around the walls. None of them were of things he could recognize. It made him vaguely uncomfortable simply to look at them.

“Here,” the quartermaster said. He propped the boy against the wall and tossed his hood back, shooting furtive glances at the stairwell.

“Don’t worry, quartermaster,” Captain Malai said cheerfully, drawing her pistol. “We’ve got your back!”

“Finally,” Gaelon said flatly, kneeling down. The girl slid from his back and landed in a small pile on the tiled floor. “Was he feeding them gruel, or bricks? One wonders.”

“You could ask him,” the captain said.

“I could.” Gaelon settled himself next to their tiny captive. Her narrow chest was heaving with a force that was painful to watch; her stare was wide and bright and unblinking, a thousand yards long.

 

     Kestrel looked away, which left him watching the quartermaster. The quartermaster was mumbling at an empty patch of the wall. Kestrel decided to look at his shoes instead.

“Do you think he’ll cause trouble?” The captain tapped her foot.

“If he does?” Gaelon said.

“You shouldn’t have to ask that, sawbones! You’ve been on the _Fingers_ long enough.” Kestrel glanced up in time to see Captain Malai run one finger over the barrel of her pistol, and he swallowed.

“I wish you a steady hand and sure aim, captain,” Gaelon said blandly.

 

     “Shhh, both of you,” the quartermaster said absently, running his hands across the smooth stone. And then: “Ὠκιμίδην,” he said, followed by, “δ’ ἄχος εἷλε καὶ ἤλασεν ὀξέϊ σχοίνῳ.” The wall cracked open like an eggshell.

 

     Blue light spilled across the floor, colouring the children an eerie shade. Kestrel covered his eyes with one arm, blinking.

 

     Beyond the gap in the wall was a shallow pool, water so clear and still Kestrel could see, with perfect clarity, the ghostly imprints of what looked like faces in the dark pebbles on the bottom. It took effort to wrench his eyes away: each face open-mouthed, hollow-eyed, young.

 

     In the middle of the pool was a skeletal tree. The bluish light from the walls made unnerving shadows in its trunk, which looked utterly straight, but didn’t continue looking utterly straight if Kestrel looked for long enough.

 

     The quartermaster slung the boy on his back, and entered. With some hesitation, Gaelon followed with the girl. The captain brought up the rear, jamming her pistol back in its holster.

 

     “Alright,” the quartermaster said. “After we begin, probably we get about-” He glanced back at the opening. “Half an hour, if we’re lucky, which let me tell you I hope we are, before th’whole island comes running.”

“Quartermaster, when am I ever unlucky?” Captain Malai said, grinning. “Hello, oracle! Can you hear me?”

 

     The quartermaster muttered something that sounded like ‘ain’t _you_ that has t’deal with th’bad luck’ before kicking his shoes off and wading into the pool, dragging the boy behind him. Gaelon paused at the edge.

“Go on!” the captain said cheerfully. “Get in there, sawbones! It won’t eat _you_ , you’re too old and tough.” She plucked the bag out of Kestrel’s numb hand, which abruptly brought the sensation rushing back into his fingers.

“My fortunes are limitless,” Gaelon said flatly, but he knelt down to unlace his boots. In the meantime, the quartermaster had propped the boy against the trunk of the tree, and was looking up at its bare, ghostly branches. It looked like no tree Kestrel had ever seen. It had the smooth bark of a young sycamore, but he had never seen a tree which looked as though its angles of branching had been determined with a protractor. It had the distinction of being the only plant he hadn’t immediately liked on sight. If it was a plant at all.

 

     Kestrel was shaken out of his reverie by the faint _thump_ of a small child hitting the base of the tree.

“And now?” Gaelon said, glancing at the quartermaster.

“Well,” the quartermaster said slowly, “guess that depends on how y’feel about dissections?” Gaelon eyed the children.

“Usually I favour larger specimens,” he said after a moment. Kestrel felt cold and couldn’t move.

“Don’t sell yourself short, sawbones! We know how good you are with a knife,” the captain said, and she threw Gaelon a surgical knife as long as his forearm. Gaelon caught it in one upraised hand.

 

     The knife in Gaelon’s hand looked almost unreal: only a thin shimmer, at least until he turned his wrist, and then its wicked blade was completely visible in the glow of the pool. Kestrel shut his eyes and whimpered.

“You’ll need to remove the entrails and pierce the heart,” the captain said, too casually. “Get the heart in one stroke, or else it won’t be a sacrifice.” She paused. “The girl first.”

“Via the stomach, I assume,” Gaelon said clinically.

“You assume correctly!” He could hear the captain rubbing her hands, the thin dry slide of skin on skin. “And try to do it quickly.”

“As the captain orders.” Gaelon’s voice was cool and measured. There was a moment of silence; utter silence, in that glowing cave under the leafless tree.

 

     The sound of someone being sliced open like a haunch of meat was thankfully quiet. The splash of organs hitting the water wasn’t. Kestrel’s eyes shot open at the wet smack they made, tumbling out of the gaping gash in the girl’s stomach; Gaelon’s hands wrist-deep in that wide gap, driving the knife up into her chest. The blood, far from dissolving into the water, spread across its surface like red oil. Kestrel clapped one hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. It kept pouring out of the girl’s limp body far faster than should have been possible, even with the size of the wound.

 

   Kestrel’s knees gave out and dumped him on the smooth gray floor with a hard little thump. He dug his trembling fingers into his wrist and willed himself not to throw up. Somehow he didn’t think the people of the island would appreciate his vomit in their oracular pool.

“Keep your eyes open, seagull!” the captain said, “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t miss what we came here to get.”

 

     I don’t understand, Kestrel tried to say, but he would probably have thrown up if he’d said anything. Gaelon pulled the knife out of the girl’s chest, took two steps around the tree with a cat’s slow stalk.

 

     Kestrel closed his eyes again. It did nothing to stop the sounds.

 

   “Are you awake, oracle?” Captain Malai’s voice echoed off the walls. “You look as young as ever!”

“’m only translating th’first bit of that,” the quartermaster said, and then said something else, in the same rolling language he’d spoken to the wall in, its inflections strange and bone-shaking.

“Tell me how to get to the treasure this was once for,” Captain Malai said, pulling something out of her coat. Kestrel’s eyes started open. It was the map, torn and dirty and stained, a wretched little shred of a thing in the captain’s closed fist. And as he watched, she let it go, and when it touched the pool’s surface the waters closed over it and it vanished underneath.

 

     The quartermaster spoke. The blood on the water’s surface _shook_. It shook again.

 

     And then began to scrawl itself into what was unmistakably Greek, written by a trembling invisible hand in child’s blood.

“Well, seagull?” the captain said. Kestrel swallowed.

“Nearly two leagues east from Constance, in the Sea of – of - Suicides. Upon the nameless island once called Tenacity,” Kestrel translated rapidly, “– um – what do you seek, what do you seek, what do you seek – it’s just – it’s just repeating it over and over-”

“None of your business,” Captain Malai said, grinning, which Kestrel thought was a very unwise decision considering the circumstances. Aiden’s head tipped back and he groaned.

“Do y’ _have_ to, captain,” he said, and then let loose in a flurry of the island’s strange, musical language. The tree _flickered_. The blood twisted violently, like someone shaking one end of a rope. There was a low humming building at the furthest edges of Kestrel’s hearing, growing louder and louder.

“No,” Kestrel translated, “no no no no no-” His voice trailed away.

“The directions, oracle!” Captain Malai raised her voice. “We’ve made the sacrifice, I get my answer!”

“It’s just repeating ‘no’ over and over,” Kestrel said weakly.

“The _directions_ ,” Captain Malai bellowed. Her voice bounced around the room. The humming was growing louder, almost painful.

 

     A map, sketchy and ugly and sparse, sprawled across the pool’s stained surface. Captain Malai crowed triumphantly and perched precariously on the edge of the pool to study it.

 

     Kestrel swallowed, stumbling back from the edge and the crooked writing and the dark, dark blood, only to look up and see the children, gutted and pale and, horrifyingly, their eyes still open.

 

     Their faces were oddly serene, despite the distorted cast the blue light gave them. Kestrel swallowed. And then they were gone.

“Get out.” Captain Malai’s voice was suddenly sharp and painfully loud in the small cave. “Get out, get out, get _out_! Come on! Hurry!” The quartermaster heaved himself over the edge of the pool, trailing bluish smoke, and between the two of them they hauled the physician – Gaelon - clear of the water. The humming was almost painful now, reverberating through his skull.

 

     “Hurry,” Captain Malai urged, when Gaelon paused to pick up his bag, “hurry, come on, they’ll be coming any minute now – _get moving_!” The quartermaster leapt into his shoes, did a deft hop-jump combo to wrestle them back on, and was up the stairs like a shot. Gaelon followed almost as quickly. Kestrel, being far less practised at speedy escapes, stumbled hastily after with significantly less skill but equal fervour.

 

     They burst out into the burnt-orange half-light of evening and didn’t stop running; Kestrel’s chest ached and his throat burned but the humming had not gotten any fainter. The path next to the shore cliffs had not seemed as narrow, or as steep, on the way up. At one point Gaelon lost his footing, slid an easy two metres down that rise, and forced himself back into a stumbling run, his breaths raspy and audible even to Kestrel ten paces behind.

 

     By the time they reached the beach it was night and the sands were milky blue in the dim light and the _Fingers_ ’ silhouette loomed over the shoreline, pale dots of light amidst a vast inky outline. And still the humming, building and building in the back of his head, so loud he could barely hear his own gasping. How had it gotten so dark so quickly? They hadn’t been in the cave that long, or had they?

“Oh, _bollocks_ ,” Captain Malai said, and how could she still talk after that harrowing sprint? “They took the shark! The bastards.” And then, “ _double bollocks_ ,” as the quartermaster stumbled to a dead halt, up ahead, and abruptly the shoreline was filled with people who had not been there previously. Or, Kestrel thought, sweat cold on the back of his neck, had just been unseen previously.

 

     “Evening, gentlepersons!” the captain said loudly, shouldering her way past Gaelon and the quartermaster. “Do we have a problem?” The humming stopped.

 

     Something slammed hard into his back, dragging him off his feet; he yelped, and someone else yelped louder. There was a heavy, meaty smack somewhere in the darkness beside him. Something hit the ground with a thud and a jangle, someone was pinning his arms to his sides; in the dark somewhere, someone moaned, and there was a wet sound which Kestrel, to his dull horror, recognized.

 

     The shore lit up in a blaze of orange light, and Kestrel squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding flare. The insides of his eyelids were deep, bloody red.

“Do we have a problem?” the captain said, bright and friendly. The hammers of her pistols slid back with a pronounced click.

“You harboured the fugitive,” said a woman’s voice. In the spotty haze of his light-shot vision he could just – barely – recognize the woman who had offered to bring Tair to the village. The pirates were at the centre of a circle of islanders; all silent, all watching. Gaelon and the quartermaster were both being held by two burly islanders apiece; Gaelon’s lips peeled back in a snarl, the quartermaster pale and watchful. A twitching body lay in the sand beside, soaking the white sand brown-black. From its neck protruded a knife the length of Kestrel’s forearm.

 

     “You must be the new governor! I’m sure there’s been a mistake here,” Captain Malai said, bright and friendly.

“No mistake,” the governor said. “He is the fugitive.”

“Not to belabour the point, governor, but: _pirates_! What, precisely, did he do that was so heinous?” Captain Malai said, cocking her head. “I’m sure that, whatever it was, we can offer some recompense and then be on our way.”

“He ran,” the governor said flatly. “You do not shirk your duty to the oracle.”

“Did this duty involve gross exsanguination, quartermaster?” Captain Malai said.

“Captain, that’s my culture you’re badmouthin’,” the quartermaster said lightly. “Th’term for it is doin’ your duty to the oracle, just like th’governor says.”

“Thank you, quartermaster, for the enlightening cultural lesson,” Captain Malai said, thumbing the grip of her pistol, “sorry to say, it doesn’t make me any more inclined to give you up.”

 

     “He is not yours to give up.” The governor beckoned, and the two islanders holding the quartermaster started towards her. His legs left deep trails in the sand. Kestrel remembered the streaks in the mud of Temperance, remembered the crowd and the crack of the whip; remembered the gutted children. His stomach rolled.

“Don’t move!” Captain Malai levelled one gun at the governor, the other – at the quartermaster. The governor moved.

“What are you doing?” the governor said.

“Sorry, quartermaster,” the captain said. “But if I shoot you first, they can’t gut you later!”

“Captain, ’m not feeling particularly relieved by this course’f action,” the quartermaster mumbled, and the captain _laughed._

“ _Let go of him_!”

 

     The crowd split with eerie precision, revealing a slim figure standing at the waterside. It was the navigator. He had clapped one hand over his mouth, and was shaking slightly as though astonished at his own voice.

“ _Them_ , sailing master! The plural is _them_!” the captain called, still bright and brassy, and her hands were steady around her pistols.

“Let them go,” Kanil said, lowering his hand, or at least Kestrel thought he said; his voice was barely audible over the crashing waves.

“You are of the sea,” the governor said. “You have no power here.”

“I called the shark,” Kanil said.

“The shark is dead. Your pirate killed it.”

 

     “I called the shark.” Kanil's voice grew stronger with every syllable. “I can call others. I can fill the waters around your homes with deadly things.” He stepped back into the waves, and stepped back again: now the dark water was washing around his knees. “I can blight your nets. You won't catch another fish again if I tell them not to come-” He took another step back, clutching at himself. The waves licked at his waist. From the way he was shivering, the water must have been freezing, Kestrel thought – or was it the water?

 

     When he spoke again his voice was as hoarse as though he'd been shouting for days.

“Your oracle stands in a metre of brine,” he called. “Fed by a tide channel the size of my hand. Let them go, or I poison it and curse your village. I’ll turn the seas against this island! Don’t think I won’t!” The last few words came out in a shrill scream, but when he raised one hand it was completely steady.

“You cannot,” the governor said, but she sounded uncertain. Kanil drew in a little breath.

“I am the great wave,” he intoned. “I am the fast current. I am the dark vastness of the deeps. Your seas will turn against you, your waters will bear no fruit, your oracle will be gnawed at by-”

“Stop!” the governor shouted. She looked at Kanil, standing in the ocean, and then at the pirates.

“Let them go,” she said.

“He ran,” one of them insisted, shaking the quartermaster. “We do not let them run.”

“I will kill your oracle,” Kanil said, low and breathy, and how was it that they could hear him over the distance and the waves? “There will be nothing left on your island. All the other oracles are dead.”

“ _Let them go_ ,” the governor repeated, more sharply. They did.

 

     Kestrel flung his arms out just in time to prevent himself from getting a mouthful of sand.

“Thank you,” the captain deliberately, without lowering her guns, “and we’ll be taking our leave now! Sailing master, come closer to the shore, you’ll get knocked over out there. Sawbones, take care of him.” She jerked her head at Kanil’s hunched-over figure, suddenly immeasurably small and helpless-looking in the dark surf. “Good night, to all of you.”

“May we never meet again,” the governor said.

“I’d drink to that.” Captain Malai grinned. “But not anything you offered me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” the First Mate said, somewhere behind the throng. “Does this mean I can put this down?”

 

     The crowd parted with considerably less grace and considerably more scurrying: the First Mate tilted her head to one side, tossed the thing in her right hand into the air, caught it again. There was a general wave of scrambling to get out of her way. Dangling from her belt was a broad, shining axe.

“Yes, First Mate, put that down, I think we’ve reached an understanding,” Captain Malai said, stowing her pistols. They shared a little smile that sent chills all the way up Kestrel’s smile, and then Captain Malai shouted, “Come on, back to the ship, you slugs! Let’s not overstay our welcome!”

 

     They made their way up the beach in a tight knot: Captain Malai at the front, the quartermaster at her side; Gaelon supporting Kanil, who was breathing in hard, unstoppable little sobs; Kestrel two steps behind; and the First Mate at the back, whistling softly, and Kestrel was honestly convinced that the humming might have been more comforting.

 

     It wasn’t until they piled into the small boat, under the watchful eyes of islanders who were now keeping a much more comfortable distance, that the quartermaster broke the silence.

“Y’ain’t never had t’do th’chant before,” Aiden said, raising an eyebrow. “Could you actually’ve done it?”

“No!” Kanil sobbed, half-laughing, half-crying. “I made – I made that up, I didn’t actually want to hurt them – _oh_ ,” he breathed, collapsing against Gaelon’s side, “I – I’m so glad it worked!”

“No,” the quartermaster said, more insistently, “what I mean is, could y’have killed the oracle, and all the other stuff y’said. Not whether y’would’ve.”

“I – “ Kanil swallowed. “Y-yes. I could have. But I _wouldn’t_ ,” he said, voice shaking, “I – they wouldn’t have anything left, if I-”

“Do it,” the captain said.

 

     Everyone in the boat turned to stare at her. Everyone except the First Mate, who kept on rowing, still whistling to herself.

“You heard me, sailing master,” Captain Malai said, raising an eyebrow. “Do it! Kill their oracle. I don’t want anyone trailing us to the heart, especially not those blaggards on the _Merry Recidivist_.”

“Would much appreciate it if y’didn’t kill everyone I knew, captain,” the quartermaster said, with deceptive mildness.

“What? But they tried to kill you, quartermaster!” The captain peered down at him. “Multiple times! I mean, really?”

“I mean, yeah, y’make a good point,” the quartermaster admitted, “but they've done nothing t’me asides from that, and they might've stolen your shark but let’s face it, captain, y’could probably buy ten sharks with th’gold you’ve got on board.”

 

     “Well?” Captain Malai said, after a long pause.

“We’re too far,” Kanil whispered. “I can’t – I can’t do it now. Not for the oracle.”

“Oh, well.” The captain heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose it can’t be helped! Anyone chasing us will have to work hard to catch up to my girl, after all. _And_ they’ll have to get twins. Those are hard to come by, you know!” After a moment, she added, “Why were you down on the shore anyway?”

“It hurt,” Kanil said feverishly, clutching at his head. “It was – so painful. I couldn’t get away from the screaming. In my head.”

“Th’screaming?” the quartermaster said.

“Two voices,” Kanil said, squeezing his eyes shut. “A boy and a girl.”

 

     Gaelon carded his fingers – still sticky with gore – through Kanil’s long, unbound hair. Nobody said a word. They rowed back to the ship in silence.

 

     The only thought left in Kestrel’s head as he stepped onto the _Fingers_ was an almost painful desire to go to bed in his quiet, dry pantry, out of the way of murderous pirates, and hopefully – hope of hopes – nowhere near murderous pirates committing carnal acts. That hope was viciously crushed by the sight of Tair, propped against the mast.

 

     He looked in a bad way, and obviously still under the effects of the drug; as the quartermaster was hauled on deck, he heaved himself off the mast and lurched over to them, dragging his wounded leg, breathing shallow and loud.

“I thought you strapped him to the table!” Captain Malai hissed.

“I did,” the First Mate said, “but he was screaming so terribly. Kanil got quite upset,” she added softly, “and it wasn’t as though he was conscious anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Kanil whispered.

“Oh, never mind,” Captain Malai said, shrugging. “We had to have this talk anyway.”

 

     Tair came to an unsteady halt facing the captain and, for the first time, Kestrel realized that he wasn’t that old: maybe seven or eight years older than Kestrel, maybe less. He had never seen Tair look so desperately young.

“You killed the kids,” Tair said feverishly, finally, each word awful with despair. “Don't lie to me. I know. I felt it.”

“They're with the oracle now,” Captain Malai said.

“Don't fucking lie to me,” Tair rasped. “They're dead and you killed them.”

 

     The captain heaved a sigh and tossed her hands skywards. “I was trying to spare you! But yes, they're dead. We're _pirates_ , remember?” she said, to Tair's stricken look. “What did you think? That you could kill their shark and – oh, no, you _did_ , didn't you?” She covered her face with one hand. “Listen! Listen, you huge lump of ham - “

“You didn't-” Tair said, strangled and deeply, dreadfully hurt.

“Surely this discussion could wait for a time when I am not covered in blood,” Gaelon said, very calmly. Tair turned mechanically to face him. His eyes seemed unable to focus.

“You killed them,” Tair said hollowly.

“Just as I killed countless more on this very ship,” Gaelon said coldly. “Tell me, what is it that goads you about this kill? Was it the fact that you were not present to assist?” Tair was silent. “They suffered just as much as they would have if you had been there. Now, excuse me. I am going to bathe and to burn these clothes.”

 

     Tair took a lurching step forward, and for a heartstopping moment Kestrel thought he was about to grab Gaelon by the throat. Instead he stopped and let his arms fall back to his side, gaze fixed firmly on his feet. Gaelon hadn't moved an inch.

“A pity the draught did not last longer,” Gaelon said, half to himself. “What I would give for that recipe.” With that he swept past, leaving Tair on deck, clutching at himself like he was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: brief graphic gore/violence involving children, child death.


	10. Chapter 10

That night Kestrel lay staring at the ceiling of his cabin for a long, long time. Whenever he closed his eyes the vision of bloodstained hands and slipping organs and the ghostly, monstrous tree kept swimming up behind his eyelids. Every creak on the ship seemed to have taken an ominous turn: he couldn’t help imagining a child’s hand pushing at the door and glassy accusing eyes staring at him. _Why did you let us die_?

 

   Just as he had finally gotten to sleep, he started awake from his uneasy doze to a bell, clanging and clanging and clanging. He slipped out of his hammock and into his shoes, stumbling for the door, and nearly fell onto Alie just outside his door.

“What's happening?” he gasped.

“That's our alarm,” Alie said. “It means something's wrong. Sir should be on watch-” Her voice trailed off, and then she said abruptly, “Come on.” He followed her onto the deck.

 

     There were two figures slumped at the base of the bell, one holding the other. As they drew closer, Kestrel started. Kanil was lying curled in Gaelon's arms. He had a hold on Kanil's chin and was peering at his flickering eyelids. More people were arriving on deck: the First Mate, looking tousled in a way that suggested she'd been interrupted in the middle of something; the quartermaster, looking similarly tousled but only in the same way he always did; Tair, who Kestrel avoided looking at entirely.

“What's happening, sawbones?” The captain nudged Tair aside and came to stand next to them. “He doesn't look good. Did he strain himself too much on the island?”

 

     Kanil shuddered. A second later, he shot bolt upright. People shifted back, Kestrel among them.

“S- _storm_ ,” he said, teeth chattering. “Storm coming. Huge.”

“How huge?” Captain Malai said sharply.

“W-we can weather it. Have to weather it. Can't outrun,” Kanil gasped. His eyes rolled back into his head until they were almost entirely whites. Kestrel shrank away. “M-might be the biggest. Bigger than th-the one we survived near Virtue.”

“Bigger than the one when we found you?” Captain Malai said.

“I. I don't know-” Kanil blinked, and his eyes had returned mostly to normal, though he was still staring straight at a point near the top of the main mast. Kestrel nervously glanced upwards, half-expecting something monstrous to be perched directly where Kanil was looking, but there was nothing there. “Was – was that storm very big?”

“The biggest I've ever seen, sailing master,” Captain Malai said, almost _cheerful_. Kestrel shifted. He'd learned by now that the Captain being cheerful usually meant that everyone around her was not going to be cheerful at all very shortly after.

 

     “You should never have told it what we were looking for,” Kanil said listlessly, his eyes unfocused and glassy. “It's frightened.”

“It should be,” Captain Malai said. “Once we get the heart, I've had it with that damn oracle. Alright, crew, batten down the hatches! Sailing master, in all my years of sailing, I've never had an opportunity to say that, and thanks to you I just have.”

“My sincere felicitations,” Gaelon said drily, smoothing Kanil's hair out of his face. Kanil made a little noise and curled closer. Kestrel averted his eyes.

“I will pretend for your sake that they were very sincere indeed, sawbones! Sailing master, are you able to stand, or will we have to tie you to the mast?”

“Come on,” Gaelon said to Kanil, touching his shoulder. Supported by Gaelon, he managed to totter a few steps before nodding slowly.

“I can stand,” he said softly.

“The question that begs to be asked is whether you should,” Gaelon said mildly.

“I probably shouldn’t be lying around when everyone else is doing their best.” Kanil gave him a watery smile. “I’ll be alright, Gaelon. Be careful?” His voice was very small.

“I will do my best,” Gaelon said after a moment, cupping his cheek. Kestrel turned quickly away, his own face burning, and nearly slammed into the captain, who had somehow moved from a point quite far away to a point right in front of Kestrel. The only thing that prevented her from running into his chest was her hand planted casually upon his face.

“ _Reef the sails,_ ” she bawled, and the First Mate and the carpenter sprinted off to obey. Tair followed more slowly, still limping. “ _Steady the jib_! Sailing master, which way?”

 

     “Oh,” Kanil breathed, and slumped sideways onto Gaelon, his head dropping to one side. Gaelon caught him, turned Kanil’s face to him. He seemed to be whispering a constant stream of something into Kanil’s ear, and after a moment Kanil shook his head and righted himself. Was it a trick of the low light, or had his eyes turned thundercloud grey?

“There,” Kanil said, pointing. “We have – minutes. Less.” All of them turned to follow the direction of his finger. The captain had to let go of his face to do so. Kestrel gasped for breath.

 

     The sky seemed to have split in half. Where there had been clear dark blue before, the clouds had turned the horizon into a seething, angry mass of black. As Kestrel watched a bolt of lightning darted down into the sea and he flinched at the – _thunderous_ crack, seconds later. More seconds later, another one followed.

“Look at those waves,” he heard the captain say. Kestrel did not look at those waves, because he was already beginning to feel distinctly sick. “Any guesses what the winds will be like?”

“It’s the last of its kind,” Kanil said, as though he hadn’t heard. “I wonder what killed the rest?”

“Kanil,” Gaelon said.

“Oh,” Kanil said, sounding less dazed. “Fifty knots. I hope.”

“Hope won’t save us at fifty knots!” Captain Malai said. “ _You_ and _I_ will. Let’s go outlast an old god.” And with that she swept away. Kanil followed. After a moment, Gaelon turned away.

“Will he be alright?” Alie said softly. Gaelon paused to look at her.

“We have no alternative,” he said flatly. “None of us can do what he does. And if he does not do it then the ocean will retake him and us with him.”

“Alright,” Alie said. “Good luck.”  
“And to you,” Gaelon said, and went. Alie started off towards the main mast. Kestrel followed, wiping his palms nervously on his trousers. They left damp patches on his thighs.

 

     The carpenter was doing something furiously complicated with knots when they arrived, and Kestrel had barely opened his mouth when she shoved a rope into his hands with a terse, “Hold this! Alie, tie this down while I reef the – _don’t touch that_ ,” she bellowed past Kestrel’s ear, ignoring his startled yelp.

“A bunch of more undisciplined rapscallions I’ve never met,” the carpenter muttered, shaking her head. “Ha! You think you can haul a rope and suddenly you’re a sailor? -what are you doing with that? When I said to hold it I said to _hold_ it, boy, not dangle it like a limp haddock!”

“Oh – uh – me?” Kestrel said, looking around wildly, and in the absence of any other boys he was forced to conclude that yes, she was talking to him.

“Haul it tight! Like this,” Nairen said, yanking on the rope. At one pull of her brawny arms it snapped tight and she gestured impatiently for him to pick up the slack. He did, hastily.

“Tie it down. And do the rest of the mainsail. _First Mate, unhand that bight_ ,” she shouted, grabbing at a rope behind her without looking.

 

     “Did you hear that?” Alie said. She cocked her head.

“It was, um, hard not to,” Kestrel said awkwardly.

“No, not Nairen. That.” She pointed vaguely into the middle distance. And between one thunderclap and another, Kestrel heard it. A low, building hum.

“Like on the island,” he whispered.

“I did not build this ship to have it sunk by a _god_ ,” Nairen growled. “When this is over our blasted captain and I will have _words_.”

 

     Kestrel opened his mouth to answer. Instead of words what came out was a shriek of terror as a wave slammed into the ship, sending it lurching sideways; he tripped and would almost have fallen except for Alie’s sudden vice grip on his upper arm.

“ _Positions_ ,” Captain Malai was bellowing. There was a general scrambling to obey. The hum was building, getting louder and louder.

“What do I do?” Kestrel said frantically.

“Hold tight and do as Nairen says!” Alie dragged him back upright. Then the storm hit.

 

     He’d never understood the meaning of the calm before the storm until that moment: sheer, perfect silence and stillness. And then the wind and the waves crashed into the ship, forcing Kestrel to squint against the sudden spray of cold seawater and the blast of freezing air.

“How fast is fifty knots?” he shouted, only for his voice to be swept away by the howling winds, and he was almost swept away with them. Kestrel staggered and managed to right himself, gripping on to the rope for dear life. Nairen was saying something inaudible; which, considering the volume at which the carpenter usually spoke, meant that Kestrel’s voice had absolutely no chance of being heard. He crouched down and held on to the rope for dear life: behind him, Alie was frantically tying something down with one hand, the other gripping the finger-thick ropes which crisscrossed the main mast.

 

     “ _Heave_ ,” the captain was bellowing. “ _Heave, you limp lily-livered landlubbers_.” Overhead, something creaked and lurched ominously. He cast his eyes up just in time to see a lightning bolt crash into the crow’s nest: he ducked, shielding himself as best as he could behind his upraised elbows. Wood shrapnel and pieces of burning cloth were blown away by the gust. Another lightning bolt stabbed into the ocean almost alongside the ship and Kestrel just managed to swallow his shriek. The hum was growing louder. His hands slipped on the rope, leaving behind a slick burning line of pain on his palms. Kestrel cried out, but it was lost in the howling wind and the _humming_ ; he tightened his grip despite the agony and hauled for all he was worth.

 

     He looked up just in time to see Alie gesturing for the rope. He pulled it across with all his strength. It was like Christmas mornings all over, when all his cousins would play tug-o-war and Kestrel always, somehow, managed to end up on the losing side and in the pond. Except the pond now was the entire ocean, filled with sharks and other terrible things, and if he fell it wouldn’t be so easy as begging someone to pull him out. Not that that had always worked, even at the Iskan estate.

 

     He heaved again. This time the carpenter’s hands clamped down to either side of his and with her help – or rather, or with her strength and Kestrel’s help – they pulled the rope back, where they held it taut as Alie lashed it down. Something gave above with a huge _crack_. Kestrel ducked again. Alie yelped. His eyes flew open.

“Alie?” he said. She was still there, clinging on, but there was a dark line blooming across the left side of her face from her forehead to her cheek. As Kestrel watched in horror she wiped her face on her sleeve and waved one hand at the rope now flying free.

“I’m going after it,” he heard her shout.

“You’ll fall off!” he shouted back, jerking his head at everything around them. The ship lurched back, back, back until it was almost vertical. Kestrel’s hands struggled to stay firm around the holds, but his grip was too wet with blood and seawater.

 

     The ship came down into the trough, and Kestrel’s grip loosened. He screamed.

 

     One of the carpenter’s burly arms grabbed him around the waist and pulled him up, the carpenter shouting at him loudly enough that he couldn’t hear the words but he couldn’t mistake the idea: _hold on._ His hands scrabbled for the rope and he grabbed on to it just as the ship bottomed out, slamming into the ocean. His body jerked into the air from the force of the shock and he barely managed to land on his feet again.

“Alie?” he yelled desperately, salt-blind. Her hand – at least, he hoped it was hers – dug into his for a moment, just above the ropes, and then it was gone. He blinked rapidly and glanced around the deck behind them.

 

     At the helm he could just make out the lightning-lit silhouettes of the captain and, beside her, the quartermaster. He glanced left: the First Mate and Gaelon were hauling at another sail, but whatever they were shouting at each other was being whipped away by the storm. To his right were Tair and the boatswain, gripping their mast with what looked like white-knuckled force.

“Where’s Kanil?” he almost said, just in time for the sailing master to glide past, and maybe it was a trick of the storm but it looked like there were no whites left in his eyes. Just a dark, deep blue-grey, the same colour as the sky and the sea.

     Kestrel couldn’t tear his eyes away from Kanil’s slow, swaying walk between the masts. No matter how violently the ship lurched he never seemed to lose his footing.

“East nor’east,” Kanil said. Not a shout, even though he would have to have been shouting to be heard over the storm, but Kestrel heard it like a whisper directly into his ear, above the humming. “Then hard east. East sou’east. East. East-” and then it was gone. But the sailing master wasn’t, still bending into the gale like a sapling with deep roots. He raised one hand and lightning lit the deck from edge to edge, making everyone seem pale and washed-out in the blinding light; but the sailing master barely moved. The gap between the lightning and the thunder was very, very long. Kanil –

 

     - breathed -

 

     -and the humming stopped, and Kestrel hadn’t been aware how loud it was until it was gone and suddenly the only sounds were those of the waves and the winds and Kanil’s voice, clear as a church bell against a quiet Sunday morning.

“Go back,” was what he said. Kestrel flinched at the next blast of lightning.

“It’s not yours,” Kanil said, as though the storm had answered. Maybe it had, Kestrel thought. Blood writhing across the surface of a clear blue pool, trees whose angles made no sense, an oracle they’d paid in child sacrifice.

“You’re an oracle, not a god any more,” Kanil said. “It’s alright to be frightened. But you have to survive, because you’re the only one left, and you won’t survive if you keep doing this.”

“Maybe,” Kanil said. “We don’t know. You don’t know either, do you? Wouldn’t you rather keep them alive as long as you can, rather than exhausting yourself now? They need you.”

“They won’t,” Kanil said, more insistently. “At least, not for long. We both know that.”

“No, you can’t,” Kanil said. “Not any more. You’d need all of your kin to succeed in doing that. I just want you to stop doing this. I don’t want to kill you.”

“I lied,” Kanil said. The wind rose to a howl that was almost a human scream and Kestrel flinched at how much it sounded like _Kanil_ ’s voice, like he had been screaming on the island.

 

     “They’re important to me, just like your people are important to you,” Kanil said. “Go back and neither of us has to lose something that matters to us. You don’t know for certain what will happen if we find the heart, and besides, we’re not the only ones chasing it. Perhaps we’ll stop them, perhaps they’ll stop us.”

“You can’t keep this up much longer without overreaching. I wasn’t sure before, but I can feel it now. You can’t do this alone.”

“Go back,” Kanil said gently, reaching out as if to soothe someone none of the crew could see. “It’s alright. Go back.”

 

     The ship jerked _hard_ to one side, as though struck from beneath by an invisible force, and for the first time the sailing master staggered sideways.

“Please,” he said. But he didn’t sound pleading. Kestrel had never heard such a hard tone in Kanil’s voice before. It made the ‘please’ sound almost mocking, like his grandmother telling one of his more boisterous cousins to _please_ keep talking.

“Don’t interfere.” Kanil’s voice – didn’t sound like Kanil’s voice any more. It was harsh and cold in a way Kestrel didn’t think Kanil could have been capable of, with a slight accent he couldn’t place. “ _Leave_.”

 

     This time the wave did send Kanil flying; he slammed into the mast where they were hanging on and Kestrel flailed, reaching for him before he could slide down the deck and into the black seas. He just managed to grab a handful of Kanil’s coat. The sudden weight tugged him abruptly downwards and he cried out at the pain of the saltwater soaking into his open cuts. He was going to leave blood on the sailing master’s nice coat, he thought guiltily, and then the tug of Kanil’s weight suddenly going loose sent him scrambling. His shoulders and arms burned from the effort of holding on to both the mast and Kanil.

 

     One small hand darted around his and closed onto Kanil’s sleeve, this time, and Kestrel inhaled and held on with renewed strength. Then one lightning-scarred hand clamped onto Kanil’s other sleeve, and he heard Nairen roar, “ _Haul_!” into his ear. He hauled. Alie hauled. Most importantly, Nairen hauled, and just as the boat crashed back into the ocean all three of them – still holding Kanil – were thrown backwards. Kestrel’s head smashed back into the deck; beside him, he heard a muffled, “Ow,” and then Kanil’s dead weight landed flat on top of him, crushing all the breath out of his lungs.

 

     At first he wasn’t quite sure if it was air deprivation, but the sky above them that had been pouring rain and wind only seconds ago was now calm and quiet. The boat rocked gently from side to side. There was a gentle breeze and the smell of the sea. If not for the shattered mast and the slowly dispersing clouds overhead, Kestrel would barely have believed that they’d just sailed through a hurricane that had nearly killed them.

 

     Well, he might die from suffocation still, Kestrel reflected, trying – and failing – to wriggle out from under Kanil’s unconscious body. Luckily it wasn’t long before someone came to pull him off. Except that the ‘someone’ in question was the First Mate. Kestrel stayed very still while she rolled Kanil onto his back, cooing over him; Gaelon arrived soon after and, while they were fussing after him, Kestrel sat up slowly and looked around.

 

     The captain had dropped down from the upper deck and was jabbing a finger at various parts of the ship, chattering to the quartermaster, who mostly looked relieved to be alive. As Kestrel watched the boatswain stalked over to the both of them and began shouting about _pagans_ and _devils_. That was right, Kestrel remembered suddenly. The captain had called the boatswain ‘padre’.

 

     Unbidden, a thought drifted up that if the boatswain really was a god-fearing man then it was a wonder he didn’t spend all his time on the _Fingers_ praying. Then the boatswain gestured in Kestrel’s direction and Kestrel gulped, scrambling guiltily to his feet. The Iskan parish’s vicar had also had a preternatural sense for ungodly thoughts. It really wouldn’t be beyond the boatswain to have the same – then again. Kestrel eyed Gaelon and the First Mate crouched over Kanil’s body like curious cats, and then Tair not too far off, leaning against the mast. Maybe he was safe. Like a peony in a rose garden.

 

     Just as the captain started towards them, the carpenter started towards her: the expression on her face made Kestrel hurry to get out of her way.

“I believe we made a _deal_ , Vaultbreaker,” Nairen thundered, in a way that made Kestrel glance furtively up at the clouds.

“I make deals all the time, Heda! Sometimes I even honour them!” Despite being soaked through, the captain’s hat remained as jaunty as ever. “You’ll have to refresh my memory!”

“This wouldn’t be anything to do with the heathen dealings that happened on that island, would it, shipwright? The heathen dealings that appear to have followed us to sea?” the boatswain said tersely.

“Mind you, heathen’s a matter o’perspective,” the quartermaster mumbled, but loud enough for Kestrel to hear. “Ain’t my business t’talk religion, but y’know, your god looks mighty heathen too if y’stand where I’m standin’.”

“And is where you’re standing right now on that island, doing your duty to the oracle, quartermaster?” The boatswain’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “It doesn’t look like that to me.” Just then a bolt of lightning hit the carpenter, preventing anyone from hearing the quartermaster’s reply, or any reply at all.

 

     Kestrel stared. There was utter silence across the ship as the carpenter stood stock-still, one hand still half-raised in accusation, only broken by the First Mate’s cry of, “ _Nooo_ ,” as she launched herself across the deck just in time to break Nairen’s fall.

“Not _again_ ,” the captain huffed, as the First Mate frantically swept the still-smoking carpenter into her arms. Kestrel’s gaze couldn’t stop flicking between them, half-expecting the First Mate to fly up and punch the captain in the face. Instead she propped Nairen up and appeared to be desperately patting her face over and over.

 

     To Kestrel’s immense relief, the First Mate had barely been doing that for a minute when the carpenter batted her hands away and sat up, brushing irritably at her face. Flakes of ash fell out of her hair and dissolved into the puddles on the deck.

“That’s fifteen longer than last time, Heda,” the captain said, a tad smugly. “Getting old and infirm?”

 

     Nairen scowled. “If that’s the best a god can do, I’m much less worried about the prospect of eternal perdition.”

“Oh, _Nairen_ ,” the First Mate said, flinging her arms around the carpenter, and burst into tears. The carpenter patted her on the back – or _thumped_ , rather; patting seemed like a rather feeble word for what the carpenter’s arms seemed capable of. Kestrel looked away, only to find himself looking straight at Alie, whose face was almost covered in something sticky and black. It took him a moment to realise that it was blood. Hers, for the first time. Kestrel eyed her nervously.

“Uh – are you alright?” he croaked.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, rubbing her face, which just smudged the blood even further. “It missed my eye. You should get your hands looked at too.” He started. Upon turning his palms up it turned out that the rope had sliced straight through them, thick dark lines which branched out like tree roots, going redder the further they spread from the wound.

“It’s cut straight through your life line,” Alie said, peering at it. He couldn’t hold back a rueful smile.

“I think that happened before the storm, actually,” he said. She didn’t quite smile back, but the corners of her mouth twitched slightly upward.

“It’s your first scar,” she said. “We should celebrate.”

 

   Kestrel could only wonder what celebrations on the _Nimble Fingers_ were like for a few seconds before it was enough to make him blanch.

“Er – that’s not really – I’m sure we’ll have bigger things to worry about,” he said lamely, over the sounds of Nairen and the captain shouting at each other in the background. “Should we go to the sickroom?”

“We’d better help get Kanil downstairs first,” she said.

 

     They did, or rather, Kestrel mostly did. Alie was too short to really support Kanil. Between him and Gaelon they managed to awkwardly manoeuvre his unconscious body down the ladder and through the corridors to the sickroom, with a lot of heaving and tugging, which Kestrel spent being abjectly terrified of putting a hand in the wrong place and getting a knife in the right place for it. He couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief when he finally heaved Kanil down onto a thin mattress in the sickroom.

“Is he alright?” he said tentatively. Gaelon was busy with lighting a small brazier. There was blood on his hands as well, and bruises; when Kestrel glanced at his own hands his fingers were turning purple and blue as well, and trying to flex them made him wince.

“He’s overexerted,” Gaelon said, in between sniffs at the contents of a jar.

 

     Kestrel looked over at Kanil. His eyelids flickered like he could hear what they were saying, almost as though he was about to come to. But he didn’t stir.


	11. Chapter 11

     While Gaelon assembled a bewildering array of herbs and ingredients, Alie pulled out a similarly bewildering array of equipment. He tapped a spoonful of some sticky paste into a mortar. Alie took over from him, dumping in powders and plant parts and, at one stage, what looked like a whole dried animal. Kestrel swallowed.

“Er – can I help?” Kestrel said, getting slowly to his feet. His legs protested, but he took one look at Alie and decided that now really wasn’t the time to feel sorry for himself.

“Yes,” Gaelon said after a moment, as he lit a brazier. “Take over from Alia. Grind those ingredients to an even consistency, until there are no visible clumps.” Kestrel hurried over.

“What do you need me to do?” Alie said, handing Kestrel the mortar.

“You have a head wound. It should be self-evident,” Gaelon said.

“I’m fine,” Alie said, but not very loudly. Gaelon gave her a look over one shoulder and Alie hopped onto the table with a sigh, kicking her legs.

 

     After Gaelon had finished tending to Kanil – he looked warm and comfortable, and Kestrel, still in his soggy clothes, couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy – he came over to Alie and lifted her blood-soaked fringe to peer at the wound.

“Am I going to have a scar?” Alie said. Kestrel thought he could hear a hint of excitement in her normally flat voice.

“Not a large one, if you care for it,” Gaelon said. “And I would not recommend otherwise. We could remove a limb if infection set in. Your head might be harder to replace.”

“Fuck.”

“I am going to attribute that remark to blood loss. This may sting a little,” Gaelon said mildly, dabbing at her face with a cloth. Judging from the volume of Alie’s hiss ‘a little’ was probably a drastic understatement; Kestrel hastily cast his eyes down and kept mixing.

 

     “What if I tear the stitches?” she said a few minutes later, sounding as though she was struggling to form words between her clenched teeth. _Stitches_. Kestrel had to swallow the sudden swell of nausea.

“Unless you discover a subject which drives you to unprecedented levels of expressiveness within the next three weeks, you will not tear the stitches,” Gaelon said. “Do you feel faint?”

“If I say yes will I have to drink the tonic? Sir,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“You will have to drink a tonic either way. You may as well ensure that it is the right one.”

Alie made a noise. “A little. I’m thirsty.”

“Very well. How is that mixture?”

 

     Kestrel started. “Uh-” He peered into the mortar. “It’s, um. Mixed?” Gaelon came over to peer at it. The noxious concoction apparently met his oblique standards, for he mixed in a variety of liquids and stirred it into a thick slurry; a spoonful of the mixture was dumped into a wooden cup and stirred until it became a tonic the colour of tar which he shoved at Kestrel. Kestrel started.

“M-me?” He took it with trembling hands and stared into its murky depths. He took a tentative sip. It didn’t _taste_ bad: grassy and gritty, mostly.

“It will prevent hypothermia,” Gaelon said, ladling it out into cups. To Alie he gave a little yellow bottle. She drained it in one gulp.

“The rope cut through Kestrel’s hands too,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand. “He needs to get it looked at.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine, really-” Kestrel’s voice trailed off. Both Gaelon and Alie had fixed him with expectant, patient stares, like two falcons waiting for food. He had the sneaking suspicion that both of them were capable of not blinking for much longer than should be possible. Thoroughly cowed, he sat down on the bench next to Alie and held his hands out for inspection.

 

     One by one came the crew. The quartermaster had bruises across his face and ribs. The boatswain was ushered in by the quartermaster – the beagle running along behind them – and seemed utterly unenthused about the prospect of medical care; his enthusiasm was matched only by Gaelon’s. Through a combination of the two of them apparently ignoring each other through the whole process and the quartermaster’s continued, peaceful small talk, the examination was completed and the boatswain pulled his coat together with an air of stiff offence before storming off , accompanied by the beagle. The captain, when she came, did not appear to have any pressing injuries. Or any injuries at all, really. She sat on the physician’s bench, legs swinging, happily complaining about any or all things that could potentially be wrong with her before giving Gaelon a hearty slap on the back and then leaving.

 

     The carpenter scowled and crossed her arms but, between the First Mate’s increasingly liquid eyes and half-sobbed, “I don’t know what I’d do if something _happened_ to you,” and other similar comments, she submitted to the bench.

“In an astonishing turn of events,” Gaelon said, “you are perfectly fine, similar to the other eleven times you have been struck by lightning and survived.”

“Your professional opinion is much appreciated, Doctor Osmanthus,” Nairen said dryly, but without rancor. She gave him a punch in the shoulder before taking her turn to coax the First Mate onto the bench, only with a lot more shouting.

 

     Osmanthus. Kestrel tried to think where he’d heard that name before, but it soon became too difficult over the carpenter’s shouting and the First Mate’s very distracting moans of pain every time Gaelon jabbed her – anywhere, really. He hunched down out of sight and finished his tonic and tried not to blush.

 

     All the crew got a cup of the tonic, which they drank with varying degrees of enthusiasm before slinking off to do pirate business elsewhere on the ship. Almost all the crew, anyway.

“One more,” Gaelon murmured, wiping his hands on a cloth.

“I’ll go find him,” Alie said.

“He will come when he comes,” Gaelon said after a moment. He sounded resigned. “You need rest. As do we all. If you would not mind, I have a favour to ask of you.” With a start, Kestrel realised that the last sentence was addressed to him.

“Oh,” Kestrel said, surprised. “I – what do I need to do?”

“Sleep here tonight and watch over Kanil’s condition. If he wakes, calm him and give him some water. Remind him who and where he is. But I doubt he will wake tonight.”

 

     Kestrel looked over at Kanil’s sleeping form, huddled up on the cot. Then he eyed the brazier, whose warmth he could feel every time he swung his legs out. His clothes still weren’t quite dry.

“I can help,” he said. “Er – where will you be, if I need to-?”

“Sleeping,” Gaelon said tonelessly, and Kestrel took the hint.

 

     Kanil didn’t wake and neither did Kestrel until the next morning, when Gaelon came in. He took one glance at Kestrel’s groggy struggle to escape his blankets and said, “He did not wake.”

“Um – no, not that I can tell,” Kestrel said, lurching to his feet. “Um, maybe I missed it, I’m so sorry-”

“You would not have missed it,” Gaelon said, lifting a small bottle to the light. He uncapped it, only to cap it again when the captain burst through the door.

 

     “Good evening, sawbones!” Captain Malai said, dropping down to sit cross-legged next to Kanil and forcing Kestrel to scramble out of the way. “How’s our navigator?”

“Unconscious,” Gaelon said.

“It’s times like these when I remember why I keep you on board.” The captain shook her head. “Come on, give me something a little better than that to work with! Improving? Deteriorating? Are we going to have fish stew tonight or are we going to be eating a slightly redder meat?” Kestrel swallowed.

“I don’t know,” Gaelon said flatly. “Medicine has done all it can for him, and medicine is what I studied, not the arcane peculiarities of sea-witches. If this is anything like when we found him, he will wake in his own time.”

 

     “ _Witches_ ,” Captain Malai sighed. “Well, if that’s all you can tell me then either your dear companion will wake up or you’ll have a new specimen for your medicine. Either way, you’ll be enjoying yourself.”

“Is there any particular reason you have come to enquire about his wellbeing, or are you here merely to feign concern for your beloved crew?”

“We’re becalmed,” the captain groaned, flopping back onto the floor. One of her arms landed almost on Kestrel’s leg and he flailed to get out of the way. “Looks like that damn tree used up every breeze and current in the area trying to drown us. Maybe it’s trying to do away with us now by making us sitting ducks for whoever’s on our trail! Anyway, our stores should last us a while, but if he doesn’t wake up soon enough we might run low on food. Might drop a few long lines today and see what we come up with. You! Seagull! Are you earning your keep?” She clapped him on the knee.

“I, um, uh, um,” Kestrel said eloquently. Captain Malai sprang to her feet. Somehow, the hat stayed on her head.

“No scrubbing for you today,” she said, squeezing his shoulders. “My poor darling’s taken a beating and Nairen’s got only two hands, more’s the pity. How are you with a hammer?”

“Um – I’ve never hammered anything before,” Kestrel stuttered.

 

     When Captain Malai’s pealing laugh had died down – and it was a wonder Kanil had stayed asleep through that – she hauled him to his feet.

“Well, time to learn!” She winked. “Maybe it’ll be the first of many useful lessons to come, hmmm, sawbones?”

“Try not to smash your thumbs. You only have two,” was all Gaelon said. Kestrel gave him and the unconscious Kanil a despairing look before letting the Captain tow him abovedecks.

 

     Seen in the morning light the ship really did look terrible. Apart from the shattered mast there were barrels tipped over, snapped ropes, splintered windows. The carpenter was industriously doing something with the sails while the First Mate cleared the deck of heavy objects. Wood and glass crunched underfoot as they made their way over.

“How’s she looking?” Captain Malai called. Nairen grunted.

“Barring another storm, I can improvise a solution for the sails,” she said. “But we’ll need to make port if we want something that won’t fall apart in a gale.”

“Well, just your luck,” the captain said airily, pushing Kestrel forward. “Look! I found you an assistant.” Kestrel gave her a watery smile. He tried not to look at the First Mate.

“Do you know a wrench from a bight hook, boy?” the carpenter said darkly.

“Um – no, but – I can learn,” Kestrel said. The carpenter waved a hand.

“You can be no worse than your predecessor,” she pronounced. “It will do.” She motioned him closer. Spilled onto the deck was a box of tools almost as terrifying as the physician’s kit, except with an emphasis on bludgeoning over slicing.

 

     He spent some time helping carry materials and hand the carpenter tools as she needed them. Soon they found their routine: Nairen would shout directions at him until he reached whatever she needed, then Kestrel would make the unsteady crawl up the swaying rigging to deliver it to her. Every time his feet hit the deck again he breathed a sigh of relief. Despite her insistences that she could catch whatever he threw to her, he could still hear the First Mate nearby, and he dreaded what she would do to any cabin boy unlucky enough to injure the carpenter, even accidentally. Still, when he was up there he couldn’t blame Alie in the least for spending so much time in the crow’s nest. The sea was an endless expanse of shifting colour. In the distance he thought he could see shadowy mountains, but was it just a trick of the light?

 

     Nairen seemed perfectly content for him to sit there in silence whenever she didn’t need anything. Truth be told he was starting to enjoy it. He’d found quite a comfortable spot in the rigging where he could just sit and watch the sea. After a while he could make out a single huge bird in the distance, gliding in lazy circles over the same patch of sea.

“Killing them’s meant to be bad luck,” the First Mate’s voice said from below. Kestrel almost toppled out of his perch.

 

   After a terrifying struggle to right himself – which the First Mate must have watched every minute of – he peered down at her through a gap in the rigging and gasped out, “What?”

“Albatrosses,” she said, pointing at the bird. “They bring good winds. Not that we’ve got any of those at the moment,” she huffed.

“It’s what you get for getting _gods_ involved,” the carpenter said darkly. “I warned you.”

“That’s between you and the captain, darling,” the First Mate said.

“And are you not in agreement with me, dreadful woman?” the carpenter said, waving a wrench for punctuation and forcing Kestrel to duck out of the way of a wayward swing. “If we’d stayed far away from that damnable tree like Aiden suggested, we would be making good headwind right now!”

“We fought a shark,” Naishi said, blinking innocently. “ _And_ we learned more about the map. You like learning things.”

“Uncovering the mysteries of the physical world is a noble pursuit! The metaphysical world, however, demands caution even from me,” the carpenter said. “Everything has too much of a mind of its own.”

“You like that too, though. Don’t you?” She twirled a curl of bright auburn hair around her finger, smiling. Nairen rolled her eyes, but Kestrel thought he could see a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

 

     “If everything was as amenable to being studied as _you_ are, confounded woman, there would be many fewer unexplained mysteries.” She leaned back. “There! I believe we are done here. Come on, boy, now for the next thing.” Without waiting for his response, she leapt off the beam and rolled onto the deck; no sooner had she gotten to her feet than she was up and moving again, this time in the direction of a shattered railing. To his chagrin, the First Mate didn’t follow with quite such haste.

“Are you stuck?” she said, after an uncomfortably long silence.

“Um, not quite,” Kestrel said. “Um, is there any chance you could, um, look somewhere else? Please?”

“Oh?” the First Mate said. For an agonisingly long moment, she didn’t move.

“Cease your _gawking_ at my assistant, First Mate,” bellowed the carpenter, and the First Mate perked up like a hound scenting a roast.

“He just seems to be struggling a little, dear,” she called back, already padding across the deck to the carpenter. Kestrel breathed a sigh of relief, and took advantage of the few moments’ respite to get down and out of the way.

“A matter that will no doubt be improved by your benevolent presence! If you have nothing else to do, come and help me with the repairs. I could use your steady hands.”

“Oh, you know just what to say to a girl,” the First Mate said, tossing her hair. “Anyway, your assistant? How is he doing?” She shot a glance over one shoulder at Kestrel.

“Much better than many of the _previous_ assistants Malai has procured me. He is, at least, attentive. And capable of following instructions without unnecessary complaining!”

 

     “Previous?” Kestrel said, before he could stop himself, crouching down behind the carpenter.

“We’ve had other cabin boys. But none so good as you,” the First Mate said soothingly. Kestrel assumed he was meant to be soothed, anyway. That just raised more questions than it answered, such as-

“The other ones weren’t very good at following orders,” the First Mate sighed. “Well, some of them just weren’t very good at _anything_. Saren did the math, and he said if they weren’t contributing anything we’d have to get rid of them. So we did.”

 

     Kestrel gulped.

“But not like you,” the carpenter intoned. “Hand me the drill hook.” Kestrel did, narrowly avoiding getting his fingers caught in the slowly rotating assembly of metal parts. “You see? At least he can tell a drill hook from a hook drill!”

“And the decks are very clean,” the First Mate said, almost sounding a little disappointed. Then she brightened. “And you helped save Kanil! That was very good of you.”

“Oh, I didn’t really, Nairen – did most of the work,” Kestrel said.

“Oh, really?” she said to Nairen, with a fond smile.

“What our cabin boy lacks in might he makes up for in reflexes. How is our navigator, by the by?” Nairen said around a mouthful of nails.

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Kestrel said. “But, um – the physician seems very sure that he will wake up, eventually.”

“He will,” Naishi said, with enormous confidence. “He’s just tired, that’s all. He’s been through worse.”

“Not when gods are involved,” Nairen said. “And never a worse storm, either. This is the worst we’ve had since he came on board.”

 

     _Bigger than the one when we found you?_ Captain Malai’s voice echoed in his head.

“How big was that storm?” Kestrel said.

“Huge,” the First Mate said in a hushed whisper.

“But we didn’t have to weather it,” Nairen said.

“No, that’s true. That was so very odd. I still think it was just trying to lead us to him.”

“Trap us there with him, more like. Magic! Bah.” Nairen shook her head. “I’ve got no stomach for witch business. We’re lucky to have made it out alive.”

“Don’t say that! He’s saved us so many times since then,” the First Mate said.

“For every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction,” Nairen said grimly. “ _That_ , I can be sure of. There will certainly be _consequences_.”

“Nairen!” the First Mate hissed, smacking her lightly in the upper arm. “Don’t!”

“All right, all right,” Nairen said, pulling First Mate into a one-armed hug, and after a moment the First Mate sighed. Kestrel stared awkwardly at the deck.

“It’s not like that,” she said.

“There’s no evidence to the contrary, it’s true,” the carpenter said. “We’re all here by Malai’s grace, anyway.” She said this without any apparent trace of irony, prompting Kestrel to consider what sort of life she must have led before joining the _Fingers_ that she would describe Captain Malai as having any grace at all.

 

     Evidently the First Mate had the same thought, because she murmured, “Was the Navy really that bad, dear?”

“When approaching calamity you can trust Malai to heed your warnings approximately thirty percent of the time. The Navy can be trusted to do the same less than one percent of the time.” Nairen scowled. “Fools! Ingrates!”

“See, darling? You’re much better off here,” the First Mate said, patting her on the back. “At least Malai listens to reason. Sometimes. Well, she listens, anyway.”

“Except when it comes to _gods_ ,” Nairen said irritably. “Those were my conditions upon defection! No gods, no eidolons, no demiurges. Witches are unavoidable, unfortunately. Even the damnable Navy has procedures for dealing with them.”

“I heard Commander Price of the Gallantry Shipyard made a deal with the _white man_ to get his rank,” Naishi murmured. “Did he read any of those procedures, darling?”

“It certainly wouldn’t seem so.” Nairen grinned. “And what did he trade to the white man for what he wanted, do you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know. His best ship and his chief shipwright, maybe?” Naishi said, curling closer like a cat to a hearth.

“Vile flatterer!” Nairen said.

 

     Naishi turned, beaming, to Kestrel.

“Nairen here was the Chief Shipwright of the Imperial Shipyard at Gallantry! This ship was the pride of the fleet until we stole it. It’s Nairen’s favourite design. The newest model. That’s why she had to come along and look after it. Well, that and other reasons,” she said offhandedly.

“The other reasons being most of the reasons,” the carpenter said tartly. “Are _explosions_ not a noteworthy enough reason for the esteemed Baroness Medih to mention?”

“ _Baroness_?” Kestrel stuttered, before he could stop himself. From behind the First Mate’s shoulder, Nairen gave him a pitying look. The First Mate only beamed.

“Oh, well, it’s not really like that,” she said. “My brother’s the Baron, I’m only his second sister.”

“An ill-begotten title,” Nairen said, without scorn.

“Thoroughly ill-begotten,” the First Mate said breezily. “Like me and all my siblings, really.” Nairen scoffed.

 

     “How did you become a pirate?” Kestrel said, about half a second too late. It felt like the question that really didn’t need to be asked, in hindsight.

“Oh, it was the family business,” the First Mate said, fluffing her hair. “I’m from the Medih family of Serenity.” She smiled expectantly, as though expecting some kind of response from Kestrel. Unfortunately the only response he could muster was his usual terror of the First Mate, and not much else.

“I’m sorry, I’m not – I don’t really know where that is,” he said awkwardly. The First Mate sighed and shook her head.

“You’re such a nice young man, but there’s so much you don’t know about the world,” she said, which was a statement Kestrel could wholeheartedly agree with.

“Perhaps he spent his time in pursuit of higher knowledge, wench,” Nairen said. “The heavens! The forces of nature! The mysteries of the wilds! These are all noble pursuits for a young man or indeed any youth of our age! The world is an unexplored mystery, awaiting only the right combination of learning and determination to crack it open and feast upon the spoils!” She gestured for the hammer, which Kestrel hastily handed to her. “You _did_ learn all of these things, did you not, boy?”

“Um, I learned, um, botany,” Kestrel said. “And classics. Um, I wasn’t very good at astronomy, but I do enjoy it.”  
“Well. It’s a start. We’ll make a scholar of you yet,” Nairen said grimly.

“Not everyone can bend the world to their will like you do, dearest,” the First Mate said, with a touch of pride. “Look at that! You’re already done.”

 

     Sure enough, she was. Nairen patted the new repairs fondly.

“You see?” she said, turning on both of them. Kestrel shuffled hastily back. Nairen continued, “I build ships that will last! That will outlast gods and only require minor repairs! Not like these new Navy galleons, which may as well be made of plywood!”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Naishi said obligingly. “And they burn so well, too.”

“It will be a hot day at the bottom of the ocean before this ship sinks under _my_ watch,” Nairen boomed.

“It won’t sink as long as you’re here,” Naishi said with utmost confidence. “You wouldn’t allow it.” Now she was curled up around Nairen so closely that their limbs were practically entangled, her lips almost pressed to Nairen’s ear. “Don’t ever get hit by lightning again, alright? I don’t know what we’d do without you. I don’t know what _I’d_ do without you,” she said, soft and breathy, and she let out a fluttery sigh.

“Confound you!” Nairen said, tugging her closer. Naishi let out a sound of delight that was almost a squeak.

 

     “I think the captain wanted me to do some other work somewhere else,” Kestrel said all in a rush, stumbling to his feet. “Uh, do you need me here any more?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” the First Mate said, waving a hand. “I’m sure someone needs a hand somewhere. _Oh_! Not quite like that, dear.” She gave Nairen a lingering kiss. “Mmm. Go see if someone else needs help, alright? Maybe the sawbones?”

“Yes!” Kestrel said, already rapidly retreating. “I’ll go see if that’s the case! Um, you too!” He rounded the corner and broke into a sprint. The First Mate’s giggles followed him all the way belowdecks.

 

     He didn’t slow down until he was outside the storeroom beside the physician’s room, where he slumped against the door, panting for breath. Belowdecks it was cooler, and still. Kestrel wondered where the other crew members were. What was the captain doing if the ship couldn’t move? The quartermaster? Normally there would have been other crew members going about their business on deck. Was Alie in the crow’s nest? What about-

 

     The door to the physician’s room crashed open and Gaelon lurched back into the corridor and hit the opposite wall. Blood was running from his nose, beading on his split lip. He went slack, propping himself upright; and Tair came barrelling after.

“Starting to think you don't like having all your teeth,” he said, low and dangerous, fists clenched by his sides.

“What I say would not be any less true had I fewer teeth to say it with.” Gaelon's chest heaved with his unsteady breathing.

“Won't be any less true, but it'll be a lot less effective,” Tair said. “Something's telling me you _want_ a lisp.”

“So it is effective?” It took Kestrel a second to recognize the expression on Gaelon's face as a smile. It was a horrible, nasty thing; it made him take a step back. “So finally you are beginning to acknowledge how ridiculous you are being?”

 

     Tair cocked his fist. Gaelon didn't tense; didn't make any move that suggested he was planning to get out of the way. Kestrel wondered helplessly if he should call for someone. He wondered if anyone would come if he was the one who called.

“Sir,” and Kestrel was ordinarily quite glad to hear Alie, but never so glad as now, “I brought – fuck.”

“Sounds like an armful, girl,” Tair said, not taking his eyes off Gaelon. “Need a hand with that?” He didn't move. Not to lower his fist; not to punch Gaelon.

“ _No_ ,” Alie said. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I'm not the one you should be asking that,” Tair growled.

“No?” Gaelon said sharply. “And why not? Which of us here has completely taken leave of his senses?”

“Can't take leave of senses you don't have, can you?” Tair said bitterly. “Common sense. Sense of fucking _decency-_ ”

“Coming from you I can imagine no condemnation more hypocritical-”

“I didn't fucking murder children in cold blood-”

“What did you think we would do with them?” Gaelon said coldly. “What else, upon a pirate ship? You may think you were talking to children, but they were dead, Tair, they were dead from the second we engaged the _Thorns_ , dead or destined for slavery or some worse fate. They were ghosts. Better dead than the captives of pirates. ”

“That how you look at everyone you’ve ever killed?” Tair hissed. “Like the only fucking reason they lived was to run into your knife? They weren’t ghosts, you brainless bastard, they were two kidnapped kids lost a long way from home. I _talked_ to them-”

“That was your mistake,” Gaelon said. “Is everyone else to atone for it with you? Or am I held to special fault since my hand was on the knife?”

 

     Tair dropped his fist and turned away. Kestrel swallowed at the look on his face and took a nervous step back, almost onto Alie’s foot.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Gaelon said.

“Like hell.”

“Do you care to keep that leg?” Gaelon demanded. Tair's hands curled into fists.

“If you do,” Gaelon continued, relentlessly, “I will see you tomorrow. Here. Otherwise, I shall begin preparing the amputation tools.” Tair had already started to limp off, and ignored Kestrel, to Kestrel’s immense relief. But he also ignored Alie’s short hiss of, “ _Tair_ ,” and stalked past her without another word.

 

   Alie pivoted on her heel as if about to chase after him, only to glance back at Gaelon after one shoulder. Her lips were pressed tightly as if holding back – a shout, or a string of swearwords, or something of that sort. Kestrel shifted.

“Go after him,” Gaelon said. “Better you than me.”

“He’s not going to listen,” Alie said, but her voice wasn’t all exasperated. There was something else Kestrel couldn’t puzzle out – fondness? Pride? He wouldn’t have put either past Alie’s prevailing mental image of Tair.

“Of course not. Does he ever?” Gaelon said. “All the same, it will be good for him to hear another point of view on the matter.”

“It’s not that different from the one he just heard,” Alie muttered. Gaelon’s lips twisted.

“All the better, then, that he should hear it from someone else.”

“I’m going to punch him in the neck,” Kestrel thought he heard Alie mutter, and she vanished.

 

     Which left Kestrel and Gaelon in the hall together alone. Gaelon pressed the flat of his palm to one eyesocket and exhaled, long and slow. When he lifted his head at last he looked exhausted in a way Kestrel had never seen him.

“Why are you here?” he said to Kestrel, voice clipped.

“I – I finished with the carpenter, she said she didn’t have any other work for me,” Kestrel babbled, “I can go if you want, I just thought, I could be useful somewhere?”

“As though any of us can be of use right now,” Gaelon said, a little bitterly. Kestrel stayed awkwardly silent, and after a few beats Gaelon shrugged.

“Come in, then. We can find some use for you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Gaelon put him to work on copying yet another esoteric text, made a pot of tea, and then spent a lot of time arranging and rearranging shelves in some way that seemed to make no noticeable difference. But Kestrel didn’t dare comment. He kept his eyes down and continued copying while Gaelon paced silently around the room, with the only sounds being the clink of glass and the occasional cabinet door. Every so often Kestrel would glance over at Kanil, huddled up under a blanket on the corner mattress, still asleep despite the screaming row outside the sickroom door.

 

     Not long after, Alie came back.

“I can’t find him,” she declared, which seemed amazing considering the size of the ship and the size of Tair. Gaelon’s hands went still halfway through shuffling eighteen jars of seemingly indistinguishable liquids, then he sighed.

“No matter,” Gaelon said.

“I’ll look again after dinner,” she said.

“If he does not want to be found by you then he will not wish to be found by anyone. Let him be for now.” At this Alie let out a frustrated little hiss.

“He’s never been like this,” Alie said.

“We have never encountered this situation,” Gaelon said.

“It’s no different.”

“We realise this. He does not. You know his views.”

“Ugh,” was all Alie said.

“Quite,” Gaelon said. “I should go see the quartermaster. Give some tea to Kanil if he wakes.”

 

     Alie poured him a cup of the tea in question despite his protests. It was very nice, and tasted nothing like the acrid tea served at the Iskan estate: this tea was a lovely pale green, gentle and refreshing. When he eyed the cup more closely it had a smiling cat’s face painted on it.

“These are nice,” he said, gingerly lifting the cup to the light.

“They’re Kanil’s,” she said. “He bought them in Charity so he could have proper tea with sir. He says it makes him feel normal.”

“Kanil? But he’s-” Kanil on an island beach, submerged for far longer than should be possible; Kanil speaking to a voice no one else could hear in the heart of a raging storm; Kanil’s eyes ocean-dark and depthless in the dim light of the hold.

“A witch.” Alie drained her tea. Kestrel swallowed the automatic retort. The idea that witches were real seemed very plausible considering everything else that had happened in the past few days.

“He’s not like the stories,” he said instead, carefully. She gave him another cup of tea.

“Probably all the stories you heard are about land witches. Who knows if they’re real. Sea witches are sort of real, though.”

 

     “How many have you met?” Kestrel said.

“Well. One,” Alie said. “But I’ve heard plenty about others. Like the white man, or the hermit of Bear Island, or the marquis.”  
“Do they all do what Kanil can do?” Kestrel said. “That seems like – it seems dangerous to be on the seas if you don’t have one on your side and someone else does?”

“It’s kind of strange. Sea witches can tell the future and fulfil your wishes and find hidden things, right? But Kanil can’t do any of that. He can tell if a storm is coming and what the hidden currents are like but mostly he just talks to fish. Which fills the nets, so he’s still useful, he’s just not – a proper sea witch, I guess.”

“Like what he did on the island,” Kestrel said.

“I wasn’t there. What really happened?” Alie said. “Sir hasn’t talked about it either.”

 

     Kestrel told her, haltingly and disjointed. One particular detail kept stabbing up through his recollections in a way that made him feel very soft and skinless: over and over, the tree and the pool and the dead children. Alie listened to the whole thing, only interrupting to refill his cup with tea occasionally.

“The captain didn’t need to bring you,” she said. Kestrel swallowed.

“I – I wish she hadn’t, really. But maybe she thought I could help, or-”

“No, that’s what I mean. They speak Mercy Greek, that’s not even proper Greek, right? Aiden could have done all the talking and translating. And then Malai could read the map all on her own. They didn’t need you there.”

“Oh,” Kestrel said, feeling unsure if he should be offended. Alie was staring into her cup so intently that he felt a little fearful for the tiny cat. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, she glanced up at him as though suddenly remembering he was there.

“Maybe she wasn’t sure,” she offered. She didn’t seem reassured, and neither was he.

 

     After a while Gaelon came back. Alie and Kestrel went back to work, Kestrel copying the book, Alie furiously scribbling strange symbols on a sheaf of paper while Gaelon sat next to her and murmured comments. Occasionally Kestrel would hear a Latin snippet he understood, something about _aqua regia_ or _aurum_ , but otherwise they sat there quietly, drinking the increasingly more watery tea that Gaelon kept on making.

 

     Kanil didn’t stir.

 

     When they went to the galley that night it was nearly full. The captain was sitting on the counter, whistling and swinging her legs. She flashed a sharp grin at the three of them as they filed in.

“Near the last of th’fish,” Aiden said, as he passed them each a bowl. “One of us’ll need to do some fishing, soonish. Any chance you’ve seen-”

“No,” Gaelon said curtly.

“What happened to your face, sawbones?” Malai said, too cheerily. Gaelon gave her a stare so cold that the sweat snap-froze on the back of Kestrel’s neck, or at least it felt that way.

“Honest question!” Malai said, singsong.

“I’ll find him later,” Alie said. Kestrel ducked his head and stared into his bowl to keep from looking at anyone, or worse, to have the captain talk to him.

 

     The stew today was more liquid than usual. He ate it in silence, in the corner, sitting next to Alie, and Gaelon left to keep watch on Kanil. The captain was having a furious whispered conversation with the boatswain and the quartermaster, one leg slung over each side of the counter, apparently so she could kick either of them whenever she wanted. The First Mate and the carpenter sat near a porthole, chatting loudly about something outside. Even the beagle had come to join them: it ran around the room excitedly, begging unsuccessfully for scraps and successfully for pats. But Tair didn’t appear.

 

     As everyone finished their dinner and filed out, Alie went to wash the dishes. The captain and the quartermaster were still there, ladling out what remained of the pot into another bowl. The beagle was there too. Kestrel slipped it his last lump of fish while no one was looking.

“S’all that’s left for him,” Aiden said, pushing over the bowl and a slab of hardtack to Alie.

“His loss,” Malai said cheerfully. She pulled a piece of fish out of the bowl between finger and thumb, like a moorhen’s beak, and chewed it down with enormous gusto.

“Y’r entitled share’s fairly large as is, captain,” Aiden said mildly. “You going t’be payin’ him back for that one?”

“He won’t know if you don’t tell him, quartermaster! But you will, so fine,” the captain said, sighing dramatically.

“Won’t tell Saren, how’s about that,” the quartermaster said, in between scrubs of the pot.

“Such a paragon of duty, our bosun,” the captain said, propping her chin on one hand. “Won’t give Iren the time of day, but god forbid anyone owes the man a debt! He’ll hound that person to the ends of the ocean with quill and ledger in hand.”

“S’a dedicated man, s’why we have him,” Aiden said.

“More than we can say for some of our errant souls, quartermaster. Now, Iren-”

“He’ll come round, y’know he will,” Aiden said soothingly.

 

     Malai snorted and peered at Kestrel.

“What do _you_ think?” she said. It took him a few long, terrified seconds to realise the question was directed at Alie.

“I’ll talk to him,” Alie said.

“But he won’t talk to you! Seems like the end times, if not even _you_ can knock sense into his head.”

“Sir tried.”

“Yes, we all know how that went. You could see that fat lip from North Sagacity.” She glanced back at the quartermaster. “Have _you_ tried?”

“Not yet,” Aiden said. “Haven’t had th’chance, captain, with you’n Naishi runnin’ me off my feet all o’today. I’ll talk t’him when I can.”

“Maybe between the three of you you’ll stand a chance,” Malai said, shrugging, which made her pauldrons jangle. “Hard head, that one. It’ll take more than a bullet or two!“

 

     Captain Malai in that underground room, lit by lamplight and the faint glow of the blue lichen, tenderly caressing the barrel of her gun. _I wish you a steady hand and sure aim, captain_.

 

     Alie took the bowl, and the clunk jostled him out of the recollection, and he scrambled to follow her. The beagle scrambled to follow them too.

“Didn’t know you were so close to Iren, seagull!” the captain called after them, delighted. Kestrel stumbled, but Alie grabbed his arm before he could slow down and hauled him away.

“You don’t need to come,” she said once they were out of earshot of the galley – presumably, considering how they couldn’t hear the captain’s wild laughter any more.

“I think I’d better not,” Kestrel said.

“He doesn’t mind you, you know. You’d know if he did.”

“W-would I?” Kestrel stammered, then remembered the First Mate’s words. “Uh – he’d – get rid of me?”

“Only if we all said he could. Nairen likes you. I think. I think sir likes you too. Well, he doesn’t dislike you, at least. So that’s probably three people who’d vote not to throw you off the ship.”

“That’s not a lot,” Kestrel said, deflated.

“Well, Kanil always votes against it. And the captain abstains. Usually. Sometimes.”

 

     Kestrel considered the remaining crew members, and suddenly felt very uncertain of his chances.

“I don’t think Tair would throw you over,” Alie said, in a voice that did not suggest any degree of certainty at all, though it was always hard to tell with Alie. The beagle whuffed and wagged its tail violently, smacking into Kestrel’s leg.

“Beagle would probably vote against,” Alie added.

“Do – do I get a vote?” Kestrel said hopefully.

“No.”

 

     They stood there in silence for a few long seconds before Alie said, “Alright, bye,” and disappeared, leaving Kestrel standing in the corridor with the beagle and a lot of unwelcome thoughts about his own tenuous mortality. It hadn’t felt this tenuous in a long, long time. Probably he’d become too used to life on the _Fingers_ , which was in itself a terrifying thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a fun meme to apologise for this update taking so long. 
> 
>  
> 
> tag urself in the comments.
> 
> (Also, the white man and the hermit of Bear Island are both references to the witches of [Though Every Drop of Water Swear Against It by tozettewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951641/chapters/13680124), the companion piece to this one. I'm sure you've checked it out already but if you haven't, it's a damn good yarn.)


	13. Chapter 13

After a few more moments the beagle grew bored with standing around and headed off across the deck; feeling increasingly aimless and uncertain in a world where a dog could vote to have him killed, Kestrel followed. Maybe if he spent more time with the beagle he could change that _probably_ into a solid _yes._ He stood a better chance with the beagle than with any of the other crewmembers, anyway.

 

     The beagle went belowdecks with Kestrel trailing behind. They passed various crewmembers on their way: the sickroom, door open, Gaelon standing at the counter with his back to the door; Nairen and the First Mate in their cabin, the former laughing uproariously at the joke the latter had just made; Aiden sitting on the floor with his eyes closed in an empty storeroom, not doing anything, just sitting. He looked at Kestrel and the beagle as they passed by and blinked, but waved. Kestrel hastily waved back. The boatswain was in the next room, and if he was surprised to see Kestrel with the dog he didn’t show it. The beagle stopped to run around his legs, panting happily.

“Don’t get into trouble,” he said darkly. Kestrel thought about asking which one of them he was directing that towards, but decided against it.

“Y-yes, sir,” he said.   
“See to it,” the boatswain said, and went back to – cataloguing, or whatever he was doing.

 

     Onward the beagle went. Occasionally it would sniff the ground before bounding off again. They went further and further down into the depths of the ship, past bolted doors and dusty lanterns, until they arrived in an empty corridor.

 

     He’d been here before, he realised. Once, with Tair, to see the twins. The door to that room hung open: no reason for it to be locked now, Kestrel supposed. The beagle barked and he took a step forward. Before he could take a second step, Tair’s voice echoed out from behind the door: “Come here, you little shit.” Kestrel froze.

 

     Tair emerged. He looked haggard; almost as bad as the night they had escaped the island. The single lantern in the hallway made him look years older, infinitely tireder.

“You’re the only one on this ship who isn’t a total fucking asshole.” He crouched down, beckoning. The beagle galloped past Kestrel and leapt up, planting its front paws on Tair’s knee. He picked it up. In his massive hands it looked like a lapdog, and it made a huffing noise and licked his face.

 

     For a moment Kestrel stood there, transfixed and slightly terrified, half-expecting Tair’s hands to tighten at any moment and snap the beagle’s neck. Instead he put it back down and sprawled onto the floor, letting it lie half over his chest while he scratched between its ears.

“I take that back. You’re the fucking worst,” Tair told it. “You little monster.” The beagle panted happily.

 

   “Does that mean you’ve forgiven Sir? I’ll let him know,” Alie said, materialising from a side corridor, and sat down next to Tair. The beagle sat up, wagging its tail, and rested its head on her thigh. She gave it an absentminded pat and pushed it away from the bowl of food.

“What happened to your face?” he said. He didn’t get up.

“This is just what I look like when I have to see you,” Alie said. He snorted.

“Last I remember the sight of my face doesn’t cause flesh wounds,” he said. “Don’t sass me, you fucker. What happened to your face?”

“It was during the storm,” she said. “A rope got me.”

“Gonna scar?” Tair said.

“No,” Alie said. “I fucking wish.”

“Your face doesn’t need any scars to scare the shit out of people, kid,” Tair said.

“Look who’s talking. You’re always bitching about how fucking ugly your wanted poster looks but that’s only because it’s so accurate, you monstrous fuckface.”

“There’s people from Temperance to Temerity who’d take issue with your fucking flagrant lies. Like half this ship, for example.”

“That’s why I’m the lookout,” Alie said, “none of them can see for shit. Including you. You can’t even see how far up your own arse you are right now.”

 

     “Fuck off,” he said.

“He’s right, you know,” Alie said. Tair snorted.

“He send you to say it because he wants to keep his teeth? Shame. He’d be prettier without them.”

“But you like him better with them. Your dick wouldn’t look the same-” He shoved her at that, and she shoved him back. Beagle yelped and did a circuit around them, pushing his nose into Tair’s face. If any of them had realised that Kestrel was standing at the back of the corridor, none of them acknowledged it. He was rooted to the spot, because surely by now he’d heard far too much and he didn’t want to know what Tair would do if he realised.

“You little shit. Who taught you manners?” Tair said, but affectionately.

“You did. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?” Alie patted the beagle. Its tail was wagging so hard it was repeatedly smacking her in the knee.

“Wish I’d spent more time teaching you ethics instead,” he said.

“You’ve got too many opinions on ethics. It wouldn’t work.”

 

     “So you really think he was right,” Tair said, after a long pause.

“I think he did what he had to,” Alie said. “You know that, right?”

“He was following orders. Doesn’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make you right because you’re _not_ following them. Your disagreement with the majority doesn’t make the majority wrong.“

“Fuck, kid, did you come here to make me cry so we’d kiss and make up? Because I’m going to cry from fucking boredom.” Tair bared his teeth at her.

“Good. It’s about time someone made you cry. If you’re trying to mourn why can’t you mourn like a normal person instead of being a total shithead to everyone else?”

“I’m not mourning,” Tair said.

“Then?”

 

     No answer.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Alie said.

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to slaughter a couple of kids,” Tair said.

“But you knew it’d happen. Are you angry because Sir followed orders or because you couldn’t stop it or because you thought the captain wouldn’t go through with it if you cared enough? Or something else?”

“Should have helped them,” Tair said. “Should’ve snapped their necks on the _Thorns_ so they wouldn’t have to die like this. So Gaelon wouldn’t have done this. So Malai wouldn’t have been able to think it in her poisonous little brain.”

“You can be angry at yourself all you want but it won’t change what happened.”

“Shouldn’t have drunk that goddamn liquor,” Tair said, half to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Alie said.

“Nothing you’ve got to be sorry for.”

“I know. But I feel sorry for your pathetic hide, so I’m saying it to make you feel better.”

 

     “Fat lot of good you are,” Tair snorted, rolling over to pull the beagle into a hug. It licked his face and settled down happily to let him rub its belly. “Fuck off, girl. I’ve got have some serious discourse about this with the ship’s philosopher here.”

“When you’re done sniffing each other’s arses you can come find me.” Alie got to her feet. “Also, we’re running out of fish.” Tair’s hand slowed mid-scratch.

“He’s still asleep?”

“He was the last time I checked.”

“Fucking hell,” Tair said, sounding immensely tired. “Alright, I’ll take care of it.”

“Make sure you get your leg checked out.”

“Make sure the asshole gets his teeth knocked out, you mean,” Tair said.

“Fucking _do_ it, shithead,” Alie said. She left the way she had come, which left Kestrel standing in the dark, watching Tair pat the beagle.

 

     “Eavesdropping’s fucking rude, you know,” Tair said. Kestrel yelped and scrambled backwards only to come up short against the wall. They were probably the first words Tair had said to him since – since the children. But Tair didn’t look at him.

“Come here, kid. Only one of us bites,” Tair said. Unwillingly, Kestrel did. Tair continued to stare at the dog, scratching it behind the ears. The beagle was slowly melting into a beagle-shaped puddle.

“I saw you,” was the next thing Tair said.

“I – I thought you might have,” Kestrel said, subdued.

“No. I mean on the island. When you were in the room with the pool.”

“What?”

“I was sleeping, and then I saw you. And the captain. And Aiden, and the bastard. In this room with a pool of water in it, and I was looking down at all of you. And the kids. I couldn’t see them but I knew they were there.” Tair took a deep breath. “Then he killed them. And I couldn’t fucking move and I screamed but you couldn’t hear me. I could feel the moment they died. Screamed and screamed until I went fucking hoarse.”

 

     There was bile at the back of Kestrel’s throat. His clenched fists were trembling, pushing so hard into his thighs that he could feel dull points of pain but he couldn’t move. Tair’s hand had gone still on the back of the dozing beagle’s neck. He still wasn’t looking at Kestrel.

“How’d it make you feel?” Tair said, quieter than he’d ever heard Tair speak.

“Sick,” Kestrel said, honestly.

“Were you scared?”

“Yes. I – I still am,” Kestrel said.

“Why?”

“I – I don’t like killing. I’m scared of violence. The tree is some kind of monster and people keep saying it’s a god but if god is that violent then – then what does it say about our world?” Kestrel gulped for air. “S-sorry, that probably isn’t what you asked, I just – I don’t think – nobody should die to feed a god.”

“Nobody _should_ ,” was all Tair said. Then he sat up. Kestrel started back and Tair glanced up at him; even sitting down he came up well past Kestrel’s waist. The beagle snoozed beside them and, as they stared at each other in silence, began to snore.

 

     Tair laughed at that, broke eye contact, and picked up the bowl of fish stew. He lifted a spoon of it and tipped it to let the stew splash back into the bowl.

“Weak,” he said.

“W-we’re running out of fish,” was all Kestrel could think to say.

“Yeah. I know,” Tair said. More silence. And now Kestrel was just standing there, watching Tair drink down the bowl of stew. The spoon clanked around as he emptied the bowl directly into his mouth in the space of about ten seconds and then wiped his face with the back of one hand.

“Fuck off, kid,” Tair said, with a grin, and Kestrel wasn’t sure whether that was meant to make it more or less terrifying.

“I – I’m lost,” he said, and it was true. He couldn’t have made his way back out if he’d tried. Tair heaved himself to his feet with a heavy sigh.

“The ship’s fifty fucking feet long and there’s two parallel corridors on each fucking level,” he said.

“I’m not good with directions,” Kestrel whispered, wishing he could sink into the planks.

“The fuck did you get down here then?”

“I followed the dog,” Kestrel said, abjectly aware of how stupid the sentence sounded once spoken, and prayed that Tair wouldn’t ask him to elaborate.

“What the fuck,” Tair said, which wasn’t technically an invitation to explain, so Kestrel decided to treat it as such and stared at the planks, fidgeting quietly.

“Fine, but you have to wake up the dog,” Tair said.

 

     A little while and a dog-awakening later, for which Kestrel knew he was doomed to burn in the eternal fires of perdition, they emerged on deck. The air was uncomfortably warm and salt-smelling. No breeze, Kestrel thought. Beyond their ship the ocean was quiet and though the tides lapped at their ship, that constant gentle sway that he barely noticed any longer, everything felt eerily still.


End file.
